


Cherish

by Xenobia



Series: Cherish [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Androgyny, Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Hermaphrodites, M/M, Mpreg, Other, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 118,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1249582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobia/pseuds/Xenobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grell Sutcliff isn’t like other reapers, and the different lies in more than just his teeth.  In a moment of angst and loneliness after a painful rejection, he seeks out the unlikely company of the Undertaker, and he parts with his secret. *Warnings*: eventual Mpreg, androgyny and explicit sexual scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

# "Cherish"

## A Kuroshitsuji fanfic

# Chapter 1

 

**_Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only._ **

 

Author's note: Warning: Yaoi, eventual Mpreg. This story also contains hermaphrodism, though Grell's physiology is not meant to represent real life intersexed individuals. I debated with myself over posting this outside Tumblr (I've had it up there for months) due to the potentially sensitive subject of an intersexed character, but my muse insisted upon it. Please keep in mind my statement concerning real life versus fantasy. Thank you very much for reading!

 

~***~ 

He was in tears…again. In an effort to appease his urges, he had selected a young man that he'd met at the theater. This one was a writer, and he reminded Grell a bit of the young man that he and William had been assigned to for their first true reaping assignment. He was blond and ambitious and he loved literature and the theater. Grell found him appealing, and he was receptive when he approached him. Though he often felt more feminine than masculine, he found it easier to engage in his interests as a man than a woman. After all, he lacked breasts and his body was masculine for the most part, though slim. 

Most of the men that responded to his flirtations were happy to share a bit of romance with him—until they saw past the illusion. The first thing they noticed was his teeth, of course. He could mask their appearance so that they looked like normal human teeth, but the minute his romantic interests kissed him, they could feel the unusually sharp points of them. They often cut their tongues on them, in fact, and the encounters generally ended afterwards. 

Some of them got curious, though. They found his teeth interesting, and they would ask him to show them what they really looked like. These were the men that Grell tended to get lucky with; at least enough for some playing around. He'd had some fortune over the years, but it took finesse on his part. He either had to top, or he had to prepare himself in private and prevent his partners from getting too familiar with him when they decided to do a bit of fondling. 

Tonight had been one of those nights. Unfortunately, Grell was so starved for affection after his recent failings with Will that he didn't notice how far down his trousers the writer was getting until it was too late. The young man obviously expected to fondle a pair of balls when he stuffed his hand into Grell's open pants to feel beyond his erection. When he found the female loins instead, he reacted first with confusion, then with dawning comprehension, and finally…with horror. He shoved Grell away from him, called him a carnival freak and threatened to cut his "parts" off if he tried to touch him again. 

Watching him backing away from him with that disgusted look on his face was enough to make the reaper want to kill him, but he held back and let him go. Grell left the little back room in the theater, rejected and miserable. He'd made a mistake…moved too fast. He didn't control the situation and this was the price he paid for that. 

Grell's eyes burned with tears of humiliation and shame as he leaned against the wall of the alley between two random London shops. He wiped at them and sniffed, wishing for all the world that he could turn back his own cinematic record and erase this awful night. He supposed it was his own fault for seeking out humans for his appetites, but he didn't want any of his Shinigami associates knowing the truth about him.  

He cringed at the sound of people passing by on the street outside his shadowed little alley, and he waited in silence for them to keep going. He should just teleport himself out of this miserable, primitive mortal realm and seek the cold, lonely comfort of his apartment. How many nights had he spent hugging his pillow, fantasizing about a love that he would never find? How many times had he pretended that pillow was William, or Sebastian, finally recognizing his value and seeing him as something more than a pest to be toyed with? 

Why did he always love the ones that hurt him? 

Now thoroughly mired in self-pity, Grell started to cry again. He covered his face in his hands and he choked back his miserable sobs, not wishing to attract the attention of any nearby mortals. He shook his head and sniffed again. 

"No. That's enough!" 

He was Grell Sutcliff. He was idolized by the younger generation, dammit! He wouldn't let this beat him. 

Unfortunately, he had nobody except himself to posture for, and it was hard to pretend he had an enraptured audience when real people were nearby to possibly overhear him. Grell deflated and sighed. Maybe he _should_ go home. It was late, and the human world was only getting filthier by the moment. Gods, how humans could live in such primitive squalor, day to day, was beyond him. He… 

He saw the door to a shop across the street open, and a tall, familiar figure stepped out from underneath the expansive, skull-decorated sign. Grell watched with mild interest as the eccentric mortician—who was actually a retired reaper of historic renown—stepped outside, dragging a large, heavy sack. There was a horse-driven wagon waiting by the curb, and the coachman watched as the man with the mane of waist-length, flowing silver hair dumped the sack into the back of it. There were other sacks of the same size and volume piled in the cart. 

"That's it for the night," said the funeral director with a toothy smile, and he wiped pale hands tipped with long, black nails off on his dark garments. He looked up at the driver through the fringe of his long bangs. "Nothing unusual, just starvation. Someone needs to tell Her Majesty to start looking out for her people more." 

The driver didn't respond verbally. Instead, he tossed a pouch of coins at the Undertaker. Were he human, the funeral director might not have caught the object, but his reflexes were so fast that he caught it before it even fully reached him. Onyx tinted nails curved around the swollen gray money pouch, and Undertaker's usually smiling mouth pulled into a frown. He started to make a remark to the driver, but he stopped himself at the last minute and sighed, pocketing the coin in his outer robes. 

"Off with you, then." Undertaker slapped the rump of the horse, setting it into motion before the driver could. He watched the vehicle go, and then he shrugged his black-draped shoulders and turned around to step back into his shop. 

At that moment, two adolescent boys ran past, and they pelted him with a rotten cabbage and a tomato. 

"Creepy ol' creep!" they yelled as he turned around to see where the impact had come from. 

Undertaker gave the fleeing boys a smile that could have put three more layers of ice on a glacier. "You lads don't know how lucky you are that I'm retired." 

Grell's face scrunched in disappointment when instead of teaching the boys a well-deserved lesson, Undertaker opened the door to his shop and went inside. He wasn't sure _why_ it bothered him, since he'd referred to Undertaker in those very same words himself, before. Perhaps it was because he'd never chucked rotten produce at him whilst doing it. Now, he found it horribly insulting, and a part of him cringed when he saw the old reaper keep going, retreating inside of his shop without further incident. 

"If that had been me," reasoned Grell, "those brats would be in pieces, by now." 

Undertaker's seemingly endless supply of patience intrigued Grell. Ordinarily, he wouldn't bother with the strange old fool on a good day, but he was feeling lonely now. He couldn't be sure, but he thought maybe Undertaker might be lonely, too. He'd never really taken time to get to know the old fellow, after all. He hadn't even believed he was the Legendary Reaper, until that time he'd lifted his bangs and seen his face for himself. 

"Oh…that face." Grell lost his train of thought at the memory. He'd only seen a glimpse, but that was enough to compel him to make a total fool of himself and throw himself at him in the library. The eyes in particular were what had drawn him the most. They immediately sucked him in, making him lose himself completely in their ancient, silver-fringed splendor. 

"Oh, those eyes," sighed Grell. 

He shook himself out of it, embarrassed. He'd just been horribly rejected. The very last thing he needed to be contemplating right now was another romantic encounter. Still, his eyes kept going to the Undertaker's shop across the street. It was getting late. Soon the old fellow would probably lock his doors for the night. That was probably for the best. 

Grell started to turn and create the warp that would lead him home, but then a couple of kids ran past his alley and one of them shouted something at the other that made him stop cold. 

"Come back, you freak!" 

Grell shuddered and scrubbed his hand over his hair. 

~***~ 

"Sorry to keep you waiting, my dear," he apologized to the client. "I had an unfortunate drop-off to make. They never listen to me, you see." 

Undertaker adjusted the body he'd just finished embalming, and he checked all of her stitching. He nodded in satisfaction, and he tied the last knot off. "There now, pretty as a picture." 

The doorbell rang, and he sighed. "Isn't that typical." He took the corpse's cold, dead hand and he brought it to his lips to kiss the top of it. "Please excuse me once again, Madame. It's been my experience that if I don't eventually answer, they'll just continue to bother me." 

Undertaker folded the stiff arm back down over the chest carefully, and he covered the body up in its gauzy canopy, before heading up the stairs. The bell rang again and he grimaced with annoyance. 

"You're spoiling my good mood, whoever you are," he warned aloud. "You'd better be prepared to pay the price I _ask for_ , this time. I've got limited patience!" 

~***~ 

Grell stood stupefied as the door opened and Undertaker stood glowering down at him. He completely forgot what he'd come there to do or say. He stood there with one hand poised in a knocking position. 

"Um…oh."   He ejaculated the non-response, and he stared up at him. "I thought, that is, I'm here to…" 

Undertaker tilted his head to one side and his stance relaxed a bit. "Mr. Sutcliff," he greeted. He smiled at him, and that open, broad grin made Grell shiver—in a _good_ way. "Why don't you step inside for a spot of tea?" 

Grell looked around. Gods, did he want to? He'd once buried this man in salt, before he knew who and what he really was. "You aren't going to plant me in salt if I do, are you?" 

Undertaker watched him for a moment, his expression hard to tell beneath the silver bangs. He began to chuckle low in his throat, and he shook his head. "I've let bygones be bygones. If I wanted to pay you back for that, I'd have done it long before now." 

"Fair enough." Grell stepped into the shop, trying to ignore the little thrill he got from Undertaker's looming. He cleared his throat and he looked around for a place to sit. He wasn't surprised to find nothing but coffins available. 

"Do you mind?" he asked, watching Undertaker warily as the taller reaper shut and locked the main door. 

"Please, have a seat," offered Undertaker. He gestured at the newest coffin, sitting in the center of the room. "Make yourself comfortable, while I go and brew us up some tea." 

Grell watched him as Undertaker went to the curtains at the back of the room. "You haven't asked me what I'm here fore." 

Undertaker stopped, glanced over his shoulder, and snickered at him. "I don't need to, Mr. Sutcliff." 

Annoyed by the presumptuous attitude, Grell crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh? Then tell me what I’m here for." 

Undertaker went back behind the curtain and he called out to him as he began preparing the tea. "You've got something you want to tell me. I can tell by that troubled expression on your face." 

Grell self-consciously ran a hand over his face. He wasn't aware that he'd been wearing a troubled expression. "And what if I'm here for information?" 

"Then I must be out of practice on reading folk." There was the sound of liquid being poured, followed by a kettle being lidded. Undertaker came out from behind the curtain and he joined him, taking a seat on the coffin adjacent to Grell's. He tilted his head and studied him curiously. "You don't look like you have a question on your mind. You look like you have a confession." 

Grell stared at him, and he wondered how in the hell he managed to do that. "You're good," he admitted with a sigh. 

Undertaker grinned. "When you've lived as long as me, you learn a few things about reading people. So tell me, Grell Sutcliff; what's troubling you? What is it you want to tell old Undertaker that you can't tell to your friends, hmm?" 

"My friends." Grell lowered his gaze, tasting the word. He shook his head. "I'm afraid I really don't have any of those." 

"What about your coworkers?" persisted Undertaker. "That young blond fellow who's always calling you 'Senpai'. He's a friend, isn't he?" 

"Ronnie." Grell smiled, and he shrugged. "I suppose. He's almost like a little brother, to me. I could also call Eric and Alan my friends, but still…I can't tell any of them this. I can't risk it getting out and if Will ever learned the truth, I'd…I'd just kill myself." 

"That's a dramatic statement to make," observed the Undertaker softly. "What could be so terrible, to put a young chap like you with his whole future ahead of him in a suicidal state?" 

A little surprised that Undertaker didn't mock his declaration or seem to doubt his sincerity, Grell took a slow, fortifying breath. He parted his lips to speak, but the only thing that came out was a terribly weak, desperate sounding squeak that had him blushing immediately. Undertaker smiled at him again, and it was unlike his usual, toothy grin. It was…kind. 

"Take your time," advised the mortician. "The tea should be ready. Why don't you think on it while I go and pour us a couple of beakers?" 

Grell nodded wordlessly, and he watched him go. The more he watched him, the closer he came to revising his opinion that Undertaker's flowing grace of movement was creepy. He didn't walk, really; he _glided_. The high-heeled black boots he wore hardly made a sound over the wooden floors as he moved. Grell listened to him rummaging around in the concealed alcove, and Undertaker poked his head out from behind the curtain to ask him a question. 

"Do you take cream or sugar?" 

"Just cream," answered Grell. "No sugar for me, thanks." 

"Hmm, no sugar." Undertaker shrugged and grinned. "We can't all have a sweet tooth, I suppose." 

He came out again a moment later and he brought Grell's drink to him, before sitting down again. He watched Grell sip it, and he grinned at the expression of pleased surprise on his face. "I make a good tea, if I do say so myself." 

Grell nodded, returning his smile nervously. "Yes, you do. Not bad for a—er…" He trailed off uncomfortably, censoring himself for politeness' sake. 

"A dusty old creeper?" guessed Undertaker with a grin. "I know how people see me, Mr. Sutcliff. At least you're good enough to keep me company, while you insult me." 

Grell blushed in a rare moment of shame. "I…I'm sorry. I'm probably the last person in the world that should make fun of you for being what you are." 

Undertaker shrugged benignly again. "It's only skin deep." 

The remark reminded Grell of why he'd come here, and he hesitated. Could he trust Undertaker to keep it under his hat, so to speak? The ancient Shinigami stood to gain nothing by giving it away, but maybe he held a grudge he just wasn't expressing. Of course, most people would just wave it off as mad rambling from him, and take Grell's word over his. 

"What is it, love?" asked Undertaker softly. 

Grell stared at him. He'd never heard him use that gentle tone of voice before, and the way he called him "love" made him blush again. Unused to being treated with kindness by anyone, Grell found himself wanting to open up to him even more. "I…I have to tell someone. It's such a burden, and it's been driving me mad." 

"So I can see," said Undertaker with a nod. "Sometimes its easier to tell a stranger what you can't tell anyone else." 

Grell sipped his tea and shook his head. "You aren't exactly a 'stranger', though. Close enough, I suppose. I really don't know much about you at all, do I?" 

Undertaker chuckled. "There aren't many alive that do." 

Grell considered it, and he took a deep breath again, willing himself to stay calm and just say it. He stumbled as he began to confess, though. "I'm…not what I appear to be." 

"Who is?" reasoned Undertaker. "The lady that owns the dress shop at the end of the block entertains men on the weekends. The mild mannered bloke that runs the book store across the street is an expert archer, in his spare time. People think I'm a necrophiliac, but that's not true." 

"It isn't?" Grell perked up with interest, though why he cared whether Undertaker violated corpses or not was beyond him. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me." 

Undertaker laughed with delight. "That's quite all right. Like I said before; I know what people think of me. I speak with the dead, I prepare them for their special day with loving care, but I don't have my way with them. I prefer my bed companions to be alive and warm, Mr. Sutcliff." 

Grell lowered his gaze. "I…see. Well, it's none of my business anyway." He looked at him again, and he decided to just say it. "I'm part woman." 

Undertaker watched him silently, until Grell squirmed uncomfortably on his seat. "That is, I have lady bits." 

The older reaper reached up to lift his bangs from his eyes, revealing that angelic countenance that made Grell lose his head the first time he saw it. He eyed the redhead up and down, before letting the bangs drop back into place. "You look pretty flat in the chest to me," he said. 

Grell responsively laid a hand over his chest, and he sighed. "I don't mean up here. I mean…down _there_. I have both kinds of sex organs, minus one bit." 

"Which bit might that be?" inquired the Undertaker with interest. 

"T-testicles," answered Grell, flushing even brighter. "I don't have any. Instead, I have all of the female bits inside." 

"So you have ovaries and a womb, too?" He sounded clinically intrigued, but not the least bit disgusted. 

"Yes. They don't work right, though." 

"No menstruation?" asked the older reaper. 

Feeling like his face would soon catch fire, Grell shook his head. "I think sometimes I ovulate, because I get…um…pains. The only other person that knows about this is my Shinigami doctor, whom I've been seeing since I awoke as a reaper. He thinks I formed this way because I used to be a woman, and my body was caught between genders while it was forming under the direction of my soul." 

Undertaker nodded. "I think I agree with him. I've seen this sort of thing before, in reborn Shinigami. The soul of the human chosen to transcend doesn't know if it wants to be male or female in the flesh, so the body compensates by attempting to make itself both. I've never seen it happen to reapers born of Shinigami parents, though." 

Grell swallowed, and he began to tremble with relief. "You aren't revolted at all?" 

Undertaker frowned in perplexity. "Why should I be? We're all just flesh bags anyway, and the worms make feasts of everyone when they die—Shinigami and human alike." 

The redhead grimaced at the mental image that produced. "Lovely. Well, this…condition of mine is why I identified so strongly with Madame Red. I can't bear children, and sometimes I…I get so jealous of people who can. One of my coworkers and his wife are expecting their first born, and Ronnie threw a party for them last week. I had to sit through that thing with a frozen smile on my lips, hating them for succeeding to do something I never will. I don't even care for kids! Why does it bother me so much, to know I'll never be able to have babies with a man I love?" 

"That's not a question I can answer for you. Mayhap you're just fighting with a biological urge to reproduce. Your certain you're sterile, though?" 

"That's what Dr, Francis keeps telling me," sighed Grell. 

"But you ovulate," mused Undertaker, tapping a black nail against his lips. "Could be your doctor's wrong. Your body could surprise you, some day." 

Grell suffered a lump in his throat, and he took a sip of tea and swallowed hard to dislodge it. "I've given up on that fantasy. If I can ever even hope to find a man that will accept me for what I am, or win the heart of someone I already fancy, I doubt we can raise a family together. Some dreams just aren't meant to be." 

He looked away as his eyes welled up with tears again, and he hated himself for his vulnerability. Undertaker moved, and Grell barely felt the air stir as he changed seats to sit down beside him. He worried his lower lip in his teeth when the older reaper cupped his chin and turned his head toward him. Undertaker took his top-hat off with his free hand and set it aside, before combing his fingers through his hair and sweeping his bangs out of his eyes. Grell was instantly caught in the ancient's gaze, enchanted once more by the beauty of those lazy, silver-lashed eyes. 

"The way I see it, some fellow is going to get the best of two worlds, with you. If he doesn't know what a lucky chap that makes him, he's the king of fools." 

Grell sniffed and he tried to hold back the tears, but they came anyway. They rolled down his blushing cheeks and fell to his shirt, and he couldn't look away from his host's encouraging gaze. "You're just saying that," he whispered. 

Undertaker shook his head, and he started to wipe away Grell's tears with the fabric of his overlong sleeves. "Here now, don't cry. It always makes me feel helpless when a lady weeps." 

That only made the tears come faster. "You don't…have to humor me that way." 

"I'm not. You don't need breasts to be a lady." 

He smiled handsomely at him, and Grell's heart began to beat faster and harder as a result. How could he have thought of this man as old and creepy? He looked to be no older than Grell—forever trapped in the mid-twenties, physically. The long scar winding diagonally over his face from the left side of his scalp to the right side of his jaw didn't distract from his good looks, and Grell found himself wondering where his sexual interests lay. 

"Do you…prefer the company of ladies, or gentlemen?" 

Undertaker shrugged. "Either or. I can appreciate all the different body shapes. I'm eclectic, that way." 

"Oh." Driven as much by curiosity as by the older reaper's unexpected kindness, Grell laid his head on his shoulder for comfort. He took a shuddering breath when Undertaker's arm went around him to give him a warm, half-embrace, and he sniffled. 

"It's all right," soothed Undertaker, speaking softly against Grell's hair. "You can cry if you need to. Least I can do is give you a bit of comfort. People like you and me aren't ever going to 'fit in'. I can't say I know what you're going through, but I do know what it's like to feel alone." 

That did him in. Grell started to cry in earnest, and he grabbed a handful of Undertaker's garments and turned his face into his chest. Undertaker didn't seem to mind him weeping all over his shirt. He stroked Grell's hair with long, soothing motions and held him as he had the heartfelt cry he so desperately needed, and he told him all about his unfortunate encounter with the writer, earlier. 

~***~ 

Eventually, Grell calmed down and the world didn't seem like such a tragic, hateful place anymore. He looked up at Undertaker, his cheek still pressed against his chest, and he tried to put the words together to thank him. 

"Nobody's ever done this for me before," he said. "Just…held me like this and let me cry all over them. I usually just hug my pillow at night and pretend it's someone who cares enough to hug me back while I cry." 

The minute he said the words, he wished he could take them back. "I…don't do that anymore." 

Undertaker chuckled softly, but it was a kind sound, not a mocking one. "Sure you do, and that's all right." He wiped Grell's face off again, and he caressed his cheek with his nails, making a delightful shiver of pleasure race through him. "I'm happy to have been of assistance. I don't often get the chance to hold someone. Not many people want to get that close to me, you see." 

"Why not?" asked Grell, honestly puzzled. After seeing his face and witnessing this side of him, he couldn't imagine anyone not swooning at the chance to be in his position. Undertaker's body was lean and strong beneath the robes, and his embrace made Grell feel safe. 

"You ought to know," answered the older reaper with a grin. "I'm creepy, right? Most folks would piss themselves with fear, if I tried to embrace them. The little ones seem to like me, though." 

Grell crinkled his nose, remembering the kids that had thrown spoiled vegetables at him. "They've got a funny way of showing it." 

Undertaker laughed and gave him a squeeze. "Not _those_ kids. The wee sort. Seems once they start hitting puberty, they start being afraid of me like their adult counterparts. The biggest cowards are often full-grown men, Mr. Sutcliff." 

Grell nodded in agreement with that. "How pathetic they are. Sometimes I wish I'd been born naturally into this life, because it rankles me to know I used to be one of them." He looked down at his body and sighed. "And I wouldn't have this…condition, too." 

"There's nothing wrong with the way you're made," assured Undertaker. "Maybe one day, you'll see that." 

Grell blushed again. Ordinarily he thought of himself as fabulous, but then things like his encounter with that writer happened, and he was painfully reminded of how very different he was. He wasn't sure he believed Undertaker wasn't at least a little put-off by his physiology, but it was nice to pretend. 

Feeling like he was getting too comfortable with the mortician, Grell checked his pocket watch and he sighed. "It's getting quite late." He reluctantly took his head off Undertaker's shoulder, and he reached for his forgotten beaker of half-drank tea. "I should finish this and be on my way, before I wear out my welcome." 

"Not possible," assured Undertaker with a smile. "I find you quite entertaining, actually." 

"Even when I'm crying into your robe?" Grell drank the rest of his tea down. 

"Well, that part was more worrying than entertaining," admitted the ancient, "but I still enjoyed your company." 

Grell gave him a hesitant smile back, and he set his empty beaker down and stood up. Undertaker got up with him and he saw him to the door. Grell paused when he opened it, and the turned to look up at the taller man with soft, grateful eyes. 

"Thank you for putting up with me, and for listening. I don't know what I expected, but…you helped." 

Undertaker smiled and he shook Grell's offered hand, placing his free hand over top of it in a warm embrace. "It was my pleasure, Mr. Sutcliff. Feel free to drop by anytime, in fact. My door is always open to you." 

Grell bit his lip, and he feared he might start crying again. "Call me Grell. I think we're past formalities, after the display I made of myself in there." 

Undertaker chuckled, and he lifted Grell's hand to his lips to kiss the top of it. "It wasn't as bad as you think. Have a good evening." 

~***~ 

The next day, Undertaker's thoughts kept drifting back to Grell, and his confession. At first he chalked it up to scientific curiosity. He was always trying to learn new things about how bodies worked, and he found human biology to be a fascinating thing. He found Grell very attractive though, and he considered what he'd said to him about any future lovers he took having the best of two worlds. It was true; Grell had the potential to be the most versatile lover in the world, and Undertaker again found himself wondering why anyone in their right mind would pass up an opportunity like that. 

As he began his work for the day, he became distracted by thoughts of what it would be like to make those fair cheeks blush with passion. He thought of the sound of Grell's voice, and he wondered what it would be like to provoke a moan of pleasure from him. He got so caught up in fantasizing about it that he stopped paying attention to what he was doing, and he hissed when he reached absently for the scalpel and cut himself on the blade.

 "Mm, damn," he muttered, sucking the blood from his finger. "You need to put those thoughts out of your head, old boy. Should have learned your lesson the last time." 

He sighed at his own self-admonishment. He vowed never to get in a relationship again, after things went sour with his previous lover. After that, he stuck to humans when his need for intimacy became pressing enough to seek interested parties out. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd dipped his wick, though. He pulled his hand away and looked at it, shaking his head. 

"Sorry old friend, but you just aren't satisfying me enough, these days." The cut on his finger was already closing. He dropped his hand and he decided—against his own better judgment—to go a-courting. 

"Ill be with you in a moment, chap," he promised his latest client. 

The corpse didn't respond, of course. Undertaker took to the stairs leading out of the basement and he went to his desk in the front room of the shop. He took a seat and he waved a hand over the telephone. The rotary dial changed as if by magic, warping into a keypad that wasn't yet part of human technology. The numbers were written in Shinigami numerals, and Undertaker dialed one that he still knew by heart from his last doomed relationship. He put the phone to his ear and he waited for someone to pick up on the other line. 

"Good day to you. I would like you to send someone to pick up and deliver something, for me." 

He hoped he knew what he was doing, but his mind was as scarred as his face and sometimes things that seemed like a good idea were anything but. He thought it was worth the risk of getting burned again though, to have the opportunity to make the fantasies plaguing him come true. 

~***~ 

"Hey Senpai," greeted Ronald the next day as he checked in at Grell's office. "You look different." 

Grell looked up from his morning paperwork with a smile. "Different how?" 

Ronald frowned in thought, and he hopped up on the edge of Grell's desk. "I dunno. You look…happy. You're smiling." 

"I smile a lot, Ronnie," laughed Grell. "Will is always accusing me of looking unprofessional, because of it." 

"Yeah, but there's something different about it this time. You look relaxed. Usually, you’ve got this strained quality to your smiles, like you're all tense underneath it." 

Grell raised a brow. "That's observant of you. Well, I'll have you know that the responsibilities of my position can be rather stressful. Maybe one day, you'll be awarded a junior management position and see for yourself." 

"If junior management is that stressful, being upper management must be a bitch," reasoned Ronald. "No wonder Spears Senpai is always so stiff." 

Grell snorted. "That man has always been that stiff, for as long as I've known him. He wouldn't be William T. Spears, otherwise. He sincerely needs to get laid." 

Ronald laughed. "Good point. So tell me, is that why you're so relaxed, now?" He winked playfully at him. "Did someone get lucky, last night?" 

"No, he didn't," answered Grell with a sigh, reminded of the miserable failure of his efforts, the night before. He smiled when he considered how the rest of his evening went, though. "But he may have made a new friend." 

There was a knock on his office door and Grell leaned over to look past Ronald. "Enter." 

A young recruit came in, carrying a vase with a single, perfect red rose in it. Judging by his uniform, he was one of the office delivery boys while he was starting out. "Delivery for you, Officer Sutcliff! This arrived just moments ago." 

He carried it over to the desk, set it down, and gave Grell and Ron the "death" salute before heading back out the door. Grell stared at the rose, and he untied the note attached to the little vase and opened it. Ronald leaned in to read it too, and Grell was so surprised that he didn't bother to push him away. 

_"Dear Grell,  
_

_I quite enjoyed the time we spent together last evening. I think we would have even more fun together under better circumstances. I would like to see you again.  
_

_Yours truly,_

_Undertaker."  
_

Ronald's brows went up. "Looks like you made more than a friend, Senpai." 

Grell started to smile, and he picked up the vase to inhale the fragrance of the rose. "We'll see." 

~***~ 

That was how it started. Grell began to visit Undertaker regularly, and he learned that the rose he'd sent was grown from his own bushes, out behind his shop. The ancient began to send him one each day, and though Undertaker rarely left his shop except for funeral business or to get supplies, they began to have dates. The odd box of chocolates made their way to his desk now and then, usually on a Monday, in appreciation for the time spent together over the weekend. Undertaker was fun, and he was so much more romantic than Grell ever would have suspected. 

What began as an unlikely friendship steadily progressed into a relationship, but Undertaker was almost _too_ patient, for Grell's taste. He had the talent for making Grell dizzy with his kisses, and when he discovered how sensitive his nipples were, he began to take advantage of it. One evening while they were making out, he fondled them until Grell came in his pants—with _both_ sex organs. He'd never experienced a simultaneous orgasm before, and it left him a shaking, panting wreck in his arms. Undertaker—crafty old bastard that he was—seemed quite pleased with himself, and his whispered promise to do that to him at least once each time they saw one another made Grell's stomach constrict with lust. 

Grell could honestly say he'd never encountered such an attentive, patient lover, but he was getting quite frustrated. That one brief, heavenly squeeze Undertaker gave him after making him come was the only time he allowed his explorations to go below the belt, and he kept stopping Grell and warning him not to get him too excited when the redhead tried to feel him up. 

"You sure he's not a eunuch?" Ronald asked him when Grell complained about his sexual frustration, one day at lunch. 

Grell shot him a nasty look, before cutting into his sausage. "No, he's not a eunuch," he assured. "I've felt his business pressing up against mind when we embrace. He's definitely intact." 

"Hmph. So how big would you say he is?" 

Grell raised a brow at him. "You're awfully interested in the size of my beau's equipment, for a heterosexual." 

Ronald shrugged and grinned, reaching for his drink. "I just want to be sure my Senpai is getting the satisfaction he deserves." 

Grell laughed. "Well, a lady never tells, but if I were to estimate based on what I've felt so far…" 

He looked down at his sausage meaningfully. Ronald choked on his drink and drummed his fist against his chest as he coughed. "That big, huh?" 

Grell smirked. "Well, I haven't had full confirmation yet, but I know his endowments are above average." 

"Hmph." Ronald's coughing fit ended and he took a bite of peas. He chewed and swallowed before speaking more of his thoughts. "I don't get why he's waiting. You two have been together for what…a month, now? You're two guys…it's isn't like he can get you pregnant if he goes for it." 

Grell's eyes went blank for a moment. "Not likely, no." 

When Ronald gave him a perplexed look, he quickly covered up his slip. "He's just a gentleman, Ronnie. You do know what those are, don't you?" 

"Not a clue," said the blond with a wink. 

Grell sighed. "Heavens, what are they teaching kids, these days? Don't you ever treat your little girlfriends like ladies?" 

"Um, most of them don't want me to," answered Ronald with a semi-sheepish grin. "Sorry." 

Grell clucked his tongue and speared up a bite of sausage. "You really are a whore, Ronnie." 

"Hey, I'm not _that_ bad. I like to go out on a lot of dates, but I don't sleep with them all." 

"And do any of these women know about each other?" Challenged Grell. 

"Er…Deirdre and Lucy do," said Ronald uncomfortably, scratching the back of his head. 

"And the others?" pressed Grell. 

Ron shrugged. "Not so much." 

"That's what I thought." Grell nodded sagely. "You need to be careful, Ronnie. Someone's going to get hurt, and I don't just mean feelings. Women can be vicious when slighted—much worse than any man. They won't just punch you or each other and call it a day. They will find a way to make a complete ruin of your life, if you cross them." 

Ronald went pale. "Geez, what are you trying to do, scare me out of being heterosexual?"

 

Grell laughed and shook his head, scooping up some mash with his fork. "I'm trying to look out for you and help you practice a little common sense and courtesy. You're no good to me dead, Ronnie." 

Ronald heaved a sigh. 

~***~ 

Grell had to admit, Undertaker did put a lot of effort into this dinner. How he managed to cook everything on that little wood-burning stove he kept in the back was a mystery to him, but there was a selection of buttered cabbage, lamb cutlets and braised, butter potatoes. Undertaker was, he had learned, quite the chef. They sat down on the floor, using one of the coffins as a dining table. Grell adjusted his pillow and he smiled across the candlelit distance at his companion. 

"It all looks so tasty. How did you cook all of this on that one little stove? You only have the one burner." 

Undertaker waggled his fingers and grinned. "With magic!" 

"Hmph, keep your secrets, then." Grell took a sip of red wine, and he sighed in pleasure. "This is nice." 

"Aged thirteen years," said Undertaker with a nod. "I've become somewhat of a wine collector, over the years. I could show you the rack in the basement later, if you like." 

Knowing there would probably be at least one dead body down there, Grell shook his head. "I'll take your word for it." 

"We aren't squeamish, are we?" Undertaker smiled knowingly at him, and Grell sensed his wink even though he couldn't see it through the fringe of hair covering his eyes. He wished he knew how Undertaker always seemed to tell what was on his mind. He needed a better Poker Face, like Sebastian. 

"I'm a reaper," reminded Grell airily. "Dead bodies and gore don't scare me. It's just not very romantic to peruse a wine selection with a corpse lying nearby, that's all." 

Undertaker frowned. "I'm sorry. Some times you just need to set me straight, love." 

Grell smirked at him. "It's all right. You try more than any man I've ever been with, and that makes everything you do rather romantic. I…" 

He stopped himself from blurting out that he loved him. It was far too soon to make such a declaration, though he knew in his bones that he was already hopelessly in love with him. "If you really want to make it up to me," he said, gazing at him from beneath long lashes, "you could stop teasing me." 

"Teasing you?" repeated the ancient. "I haven't cracked a joke since you got here, my sweet." 

"I didn't mean _that_ sort of teasing," explained Grell, He locked eyes with him and he reached across the table to lay his hand over one of Undertaker's. "I mean the sensual kind. I want to make love, tonight." 

Undertaker moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, probably not even realizing how sensual the action appeared. "You've no _idea_ how much that thought appeals to me, Grell. I've spent the better part of the last century with nothing but my own hand for company, and that gets quite lonely." 

Grell squeezed his hand. "I can imagine. It's only been…um…well, I can't say because it isn't ladylike, but I haven't gone without for as long as you, and I'm ready to burst." 

Undertaker smiled, and he brought Grell's hand to his lips for a kiss. "I have a confession to make." 

"Oh?" Grell smiled and propped an elbow on the coffin's surface, then laid his chin in his palm. "Do tell." 

"I'm a bit nervous. I know that's the last thing a lady wants to hear from her man, but you aren't the average—" 

Grell pulled his hand out of Undertaker's and he colored. "If you're too afraid to be with someone like me, you should have just said so." 

Undertaker sighed patiently and reached for his hand again. "I was going to say 'lady'," he finished, "and yes, I'm a little intimidated. First time and all that, and I don't know how you want it to go. Instead of getting mad at me, why can't you try _teaching_ me? Show me what you like, Grell. Show me how to please you." 

A charming blush suffused Grell's cheeks at those words, and he practically melted where he sat. "Oh, that was…a very nice recovery. Bravo." 

Undertaker laughed brightly at that, and he clasped Grell's hand in both of his, still chuckling as he gazed back at him. "I was being serious, for a change." 

"I know." Grell's smile softened on him. "And your sincerity alone is pleasing. I…I understand why you're uncertain. At least you aren't running away." 

"I'd be a fool to do that," insisted Undertaker. "I want you. I just don't want to spoil anything. It's been some time and I've never been with anyone like you, so please be patient and forgive any awkward moments I might have." 

Grell could have jumped over the coffin to have him right then, but he restrained his passion, and he gently pulled his hand out of his grasp to start eating while the food was hot. "I promise you, I'll be gentle." He winked at him, and he cut away his first bite of the lamb cutlets. His mouth watered immediately at the burst of flavors when he put it in his mouth, and he rolled his eyes in bliss. 

"That's it, I'm kidnapping you to live in my apartment and be my personal cook." 

Undertaker chuckled. "If it weren't in the Shinigami realm, I'd be happy to do that for you." 

Grell let the matter drop. He would never get Undertaker to set foot in the next plane, unless there was some new emergency that required his services. He washed down his food with a sip of wine, and then he tried the cabbage. They chatted about theater and music as they ate, and their eyes caressed each other as they talked. The kept finding excuses to touch each other, and Grell was so relieved when they both finished eating that he sighed. 

"Well, that was delicious," complimented Grell as he wiped his lips. He smiled at his companion, and he sensed his anxiety. It was oddly refreshing, to know that this ancient reaper was actually nervous about bedding him—and not just because he had two sets of genitals. 

"I've got a pudding I can heat up for dessert," offered the mortician huskily, his eyes flashing behind the fringe of his bangs as he looked Grell up and down. 

Grell put his napkin down and he got up. "I'm sure it's delightful, but I have a different sort of dessert in mind." He circled around to the other side of the coffin, and he sat down in Undertaker's lap. Grinning, he put his arms around his neck and he rubbed his cheek against his, like a cat. 

"I want you tonight," Grell whispered into his ear. He removed the other reaper's top hat and he combed his fingers through his hair, brushing his bangs away from his eyes. "You aren't going to make a lady wait longer, are you?" 

Undertaker grinned and shook his head, putting his arms around Grell. "Absolutely not, if the lady is sincerely ready for it. Just tell me how you want me." 

"Naked, preferably." Grell winked at him. "Lovemaking tends to be a bit easier, that way." 

Undertaker laughed in delight and gave him a squeeze and a smooch on the lips. "No, silly goose, I mean what role do you want to take?" 

Grell honestly hadn't even thought of it. He just assumed he would take the role of the female, because that was how he pictured himself making love with Undertaker. He wanted Undertaker inside of him, but the thought of going the other way around was quite appealing, too. 

"You would bottom for me?" asked Grell, searching his eyes. Undertaker didn't seem like the type, regardless of his physical beauty. 

The ancient nuzzled his cheek and nodded. "Of course. I'll take anyway I can have you, love." 

If he weren't already madly in love with him, that statement would have cinched it. Grell kissed him deeply, ignoring the cuts his teeth made against the inside of his mouth as it pressed against Undertaker's. The older Shinigami's tongue sought entry to his mouth, and he allowed it. He felt the swell of arousal growing against the bottom of his thighs, and he slipped a hand down, into Undertaker's lap. This time, he didn't stop him from having a feel and Grell smirked into the kiss when he palmed his growing length through the long shirt and black pants he wore. He grinned against his lips when he felt the evidence to support his suspicions. He couldn't be sure until he freed him from his breeches, but Grell was confident that his handsome ancient was a big boy. 

"I want you inside of me," he gasped passionately against the other man's lips. 

Undertaker kissed him harder, evidently approving of his wishes. His breath quickened when Grell started to rub him, and he broke away and gazed at him with lusty eyes. "Which entrance, love? We'll require some additional preparation if you want—" 

"The female one," decided Grell easily. "I…I've never actually had a man inside of me there, before. I want to know what it's like." 

Undertaker smiled tenderly at him, and he stroked his hair. "I'll be your first, then?" 

Grell nodded. "Yes, you will…so be gentle with me." 

Undertaker nodded. "I'll treat you like the flower you are, my dear." He eased Grell off of his lap and he stood up, offering a hand to him. "Come. Our first time isn't going to be on the floor." 

Grell smiled and took his hand. Undertaker hardly ever used the bed in the back room himself, but he kept it changed regularly, and he slept with Grell in it when he stayed over. This was going to be a night to remember. 

~***~ 

Grell hadn't overestimated his companion. Once the clothing began to fall to the floor, Undertaker seemed to shed any uncertainty he harbored, and he showed Grell what a generous lover he could be. He introduced him to the outstanding experience of being orally pleasured down there, once he got him undressed. Nobody had ever loved him this way, and Grell tossed his head helplessly as the other man's tongue flicked rhythmically against his clit. While he pleasured him with his mouth, he also fondled his erection. 

For someone that expressed some uncertainty over how to proceed earlier, Undertaker was demonstrating an uncanny knowledge of Grell's body. He supposed he shouldn't be so shocked, considering the man's knowledge of human autonomy and his great age. In the back of his mind, Grell wondered if Undertaker had ever been with an androgynous reaper before, because he caught on so quickly. He couldn't wonder for very long, though, as the attention he was showering on his lady bits was quickly driving all coherent thought from his mind. 

"Undertaker," moaned Grell, grabbing the pillows. 

He was already coming, and he whimpered and lifted his hips off the mattress as the delicious inner spasms began. Panting and shaken, he barely caught his breath before a second orgasm came—this one centered on his male parts. He twitched in his lover's stroking hand, and he moaned as he came. He didn't make as big a mess as other men, but there was still some fluid. Undertaker stopped licking him, and he kept stroking him until he was spent. He stretched out beside him on the bed and pulled his hair to one side, before leaning over him to kiss his panting mouth. 

"You didn't instruct me," he admonished softly, huskily. 

Grell smiled euphorically and he looked up at him. "There was no need. My gods, how do you…have you ever done this before?" 

Undertaker laughed. "You know I have, Grell. It would be a sad thing indeed, if I were a virgin at my age." 

Grell stroked his chest, admiring the hard, lean muscles and the scars decorating it. "I meant with someone like me." 

Undertaker shook his head. "I told you, I've never been with anyone like you. All I did was use my knowledge of how to pleasure both sexes." He smiled down at him and he rubbed the tip of his nose against Grell's affectionately. "I take it you're pleased?" 

Grell looked down at the mess he'd made on himself. "I think _that's_ rather obvious." 

Undertaker grinned, and he kissed him lightly as he began to undo his pants. His boots were already lying on the floor, and Grell learned that the straps and buckles were what held them together up to his thighs. Eager to see him completely in the nude, he began to help him. 

"You're so beautiful," Undertaker enthused, watching his blushing face with a smile. "Here now, just relax while I get out of these." 

Grell stopped fiddling with the fastenings on his pants, and he tried to relax. Seeing the dismayed way he was looking down at his torso, Undertaker laughed and he got out of bed to procure a handkerchief from his discarded robe. Grinning, he came back to Grell and he wiped him off with loving care. 

"There, better?" 

Grell smiled up at him almost shyly. "I'm sorry to be so fussy. It's a personality flaw of mine." 

"It isn't a bother," assured Undertaker. 

He finished his task and he kissed him, before dropping the hanky on the nightstand. He got up again and he pulled his pants down and off, leaving his body covered only by the long, pale silk of his thick hair. Grell stared him up and down with wide eyes as he climbed back onto the bed with him, and he immediately reached down to grip his erection and stroke it. Undertaker pushed into his touch with a sigh of pleasure, and he began to kiss him again. 

"I've wanted to feel your hands on me," admitted the mortician in a low voice. 

"Likewise," gasped Grell, blushing again as he enjoyed a good feel. "I'm very impressed, you gorgeous creature. Are you as good with this as you are with your hands and mouth, though?" 

Undertaker tucked his braid behind his ear and he winked at him. "We'll soon find out, won't we?" He slipped a leg between Grell's thighs, silently coaxing him to part them. "I'll ask just once more, Grell; do you want this? We can still stop, if you need more time." 

"Oh hells no," said the redhead with feeling. "I'm not going to ask you to stop now! If you even suggest it again, I'll bite you!" 

"Careful, to someone like me, that's just flirtation." Undertaker smiled as he lowered his mouth to his for another kiss. "Mmm, feels good, love." He began to pump into Grell's stroking hand slowly, clearly enjoying his attentions. 

If he weren't so desperate to feel Undertaker inside of him, Grell might have been happy stroking him off to completion, or returning the favor and performing orally on him. As it was, the more he stroked the thick length of his sex, the more he wanted him inside of him. He began to harden again, ever so subtly. He squirmed with impatience and he bit his lip. 

"Undy," he said softly, "I want you." 

Undertaker opened his eyes and smiled curiously at him, tilting his head in an inquisitive manner. "'Undy'?" he repeated. "I don't believe anyone has ever shortened my name that way, before." 

"You don't like it," reasoned Grell. "I shall refrain from doing it again." 

"Oh, no need," assured Undertaker. He kissed the corners of Grell's mouth, his lips grinning against his. "I rather like it, to be honest. It's cute." 

"Oh?" Grell smiled back at him. "Then it's my new pet name for you." 

Undertaker laughed softly, but his breath caught and he sobered when Grell's stroking on his cock sped up. "Grell…my darling…I'm not going to last, if you keep that up." 

Hearing the subtle tension in his voice, Grell took pity on him. He rolled over suddenly and he pushed Undertaker onto his back. Grinning down at him, he straddled him, and he rubbed the moist valley of his loins against the length of his cock. Undertaker groaned softly and cupped his hips, looking up at him with quiet desperation in his gorgeous eyes. 

"You shouldn't tease a starving man," he warned softly. "I can't promise to behave for long, if you do." 

Grell undulated slowly on top of him, and a flush of passion spread over his cheekbones. "It isn't teasing," he whispered, taking one of Undertaker's hands in his. He brought it to his lips and he kissed the fingertips, one by one. "It's a promise." 

Undertaker's expression softened, and he shifted beneath Grell, grinding himself against him suggestively as the redhead delicately licked the pads of his fingertips. "You know how to make a man ache with need, kitten." 

Grell smiled, pleased by the sentiment. Undertaker really, truly wanted him, and he wasn't a bit put off by his unusual biology. It made his heart soar, even as it steadily returned him to a hardened state of readiness. Grell lifted up, and he gripped the base of Undertaker's erection to hold it steady. He positioned it and he gingerly began to sink down upon it, unfamiliar with doing it this way. Undertaker watched him, and he began to fondle his nipples gently. 

It was a tight fit; tighter than Grell had expected, in fact. He understood that lady bits were designed to accommodate a man's girth, even when he was endowed like Undertaker. What he hadn't counted on was the presence of a maidenhead. He learned that he had one in a most painful way, when Undertaker moved beneath him and drove himself deep. Grell gasped and went wide-eyed with shocked pain, and Undertaker immediately froze. 

"Oh, love," gasped Undertaker with understanding. He immediately sat up, and he embraced the whimpering redhead gently. "Shh, easy now…just give it a few moments. I'm sorry…so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." 

Grell accepted the apology, because he'd been just as clueless as Undertaker and he couldn't rightfully blame him for it. He returned his embrace and tried to relax his body. His erection deflated a little from the discomfort, but Undertaker's gentle kisses and touches worked to keep him from completely falling out of the mood. 

"I should have known," sighed the ancient. His lips moved along Grell's throat, and his hands stroked his back. He slipped one of them between their bodies to fondle his cock, gently stroking it back to full swell. "I'll do my best to make it up to you, my dear." 

Grell kissed him trustingly, and he began to move carefully, taking his time with it as he familiarized himself with the feel of being penetrated down there. The pain was ebbing away steadily, to be replaced by the delightful fullness inside. When he shifted on top of him, he felt his cock press against a spot inside that made a thrill go through him, rather like the spot inside his other entrance, but more muted. 

Grell moaned and he began to rock, listening to his body's instincts. It was easy to just let himself go with such a generous man. He never would have imagined Undertaker as such, but he was never happier to be proven wrong. He whimpered softly, his pleasure rising as his body recovered from the pain of the breach. He grabbed a handful of the older reaper's silver hair and he urged him to tilt his head back, baring his scar-striped throat. When he complied, Grell bent his head and he licked the scar, tracing it with his tongue and feeling the vibrations of his voice against it as Undertaker murmured his name. 

"You can take over, now," Grell suggested breathlessly. He wanted to see what he could do. 

Undertaker gazed at him thoughtfully. "You're sure about that?" 

Grell smiled. "I'm sure. I trust you, my dark love." 

He half expected Undertaker to laugh at his poetic drivel, but the man was obviously in too much of an excited state to bother. He rolled over, taking Grell with him and pinning him beneath him. His eyes blazed down at him and his handsome visage was tense with lust. Grell cried out as he withdrew to the tip, and then thrust back in. He did it slowly, but he didn't pause once he began entering him. He kissed him as he slid in until he filled him completely. When Grell didn't cry out in pain, he withdrew and did it again…and again after that. His breath caught and he kissed him more deeply, cutting his tongue on his teeth. 

Grell returned his kiss eagerly, tasting the salty blood in his mouth. He locked his ankles behind Undertaker's back, panting and moaning with each steady thrust. Undertaker began to pick up speed, his hips pumping with practiced skill. Grell responded gingerly at first, unsure of how to move when taking it this way. He soon found it was much the same as with anal sex, and his moans grew increasingly louder and more frequent as the pace of their lovemaking increased. 

Undertaker's hair tickled as it glided over his skin, and he found the sensation pleasing. He'd never been with someone that had as much hair on his head as he did. Here was this wild, unkempt creature that he wouldn't have seen himself with before, giving him more pleasure than Grell had ever experienced with another person before. He watched the expressions of lust on Undertaker's face as he took him, and he began to cry out with every masterful thrust. He blurted poetic endearments to his lover, encouraging him not to stop. There was still a bit of an ache inside, but it paled in comparison to the pleasure of feeling Undertaker's rigid cock thrusting inside of him. 

Undertaker balanced on one arm and he gripped the redhead's erection again, stroking it as he pumped over him. Grell rapidly approached another climax, and he was quite vocal about it. He yelled his companion's name helplessly as he began to constrict around his pumping sex, and he grabbed his flexing ass to squeeze it. Undertaker groaned heavily into his ear, his breath quickening with excitement. He started to tense up, and Grell slipped his hands around his hips to caress his tight abs and chest, feeling the raised tissue of his scars beneath his palms. Undertaker's breath caught, his eyes shut, and he bucked inside of him. He grunted and moaned in a low voice, slowly opening his eyes to gaze down at Grell as he filled him. 

When he was spent, Undertaker lowered his mouth to the redhead's and he kissed him tenderly. Grell's cock was still erect, but he didn't mind when the silver reaper stopped fondling him to balance his weight on both arms. Undertaker was trembling and it was with a bit of surprise that Grell realized _he_ was trembling, too. He kissed him back; overcome by feelings of warmth he'd only really ever felt for one other man. He would never have William in his bed. He'd come to accept that. What he had with Undertaker made up for that, though. 

"Thank you for that," sighed Undertaker against his lips when he broke the kiss. He grinned. "And I mean that sincerely." 

Grell chuckled, wincing as the bigger man shifted a little on top of him. "It was my pleasure. You were magnificent." 

"I thought I was rather clumsy," sighed Undertaker, "but so long as you enjoyed it, I'm satisfied." 

He kissed him once more, and then he withdrew from him. Grell felt the stickiness between his legs that couldn't be associated with natural lubricant or semen, and he looked down to find his pale thighs stained with blood. "Oh, my. I really did make a mess." 

Undertaker noticed as well, and he rubbed his thigh and kissed him again. "Not to worry. The sheets will wash and I'll fetch a washcloth to get you cleaned up. I could draw a warm bath for you too, if you're a bit sore and want a soak." 

"Maybe tomorrow," sighed Grell sleepily. The experience had been so intense and satisfying that all he really wanted to do was hold Undertaker and go to sleep. "Just don't leave me for very long. I want you in my arms." 

Undertaker smiled broadly at him. "As the lady wishes. I'll be back before you know it, love." 

Grell smiled back and he sighed in contentment, snuggling deeper into the blankets. It really _was_ a comfortable bed. He drifted off without realizing it, and he didn't even feel Undertaker gently cleaning him up, before joining him. He instinctively snuggled into his naked warmth when the older reaper got back into bed with him and covered them both up. 

~***~ 

-To be continued

 

 

 

  


	2. Chapter 2

He came home to find his lover waiting for him on the big, black canopy bed in the back room of his shop. Undertaker wasn't much for beds himself, but Grell insisted upon them. There was also a lot more room for two people on the king-sized bed than there was in a coffin. He stepped into the bedroom, and he looked up at the sound of Grell's voice. 

"Well, it's about time. I was beginning to wonder if I would need to go solo." 

Undertaker took his hat off and combed his pale bangs back from his eyes as he approached, looking Grell up and down with interest. As he drew closer, he could see him more clearly and he had to appreciate the sight. Grell was wearing a pale pink, satin corset with white lace embroidery. The panties he wore with it matched, sporting pink ribbons. His pale legs were covered to the thigh in pink stockings, held in place with lacy white garters. 

"Do you like it?" asked the redhead, smiling his sharp-toothed smile up at him. He lay on his side, propped up on one arm. His other hand rested on his hip, and his top leg was bent at the knee. He looked feminine and alluring, though he lacked breasts to complete the pinup image. 

"Oh, I do like it indeed," approved Undertaker with a grin of his own. He stopped by the bed and he admired the way Grell's long, crimson hair spilled over his shoulders and down his back. "I adore that color on you."

"So you've told me." Grell smirked, and he sat up and got to his knees on the bed. He reached out to capture a long, trailing lock of Undertaker's hair, and he tugged it gently to urge him closer. "I've been thinking of you all day, my laughing, silver Romeo."

Undertaker beamed at him. He set his hat on the rack by the wall, and he unfastened the chain of keepsake lockets around his waist that served as a belt. He dropped it on top of the black oaken dresser, and then he began to loosen and unfasten the outer drapery of his robes. Grell relaxed against the pillows again, watching him with heavy-lashed, expectant green eyes. He was blushing prettily with anticipatory arousal, and Undertaker swelled completely in his pants when he ran his tongue over his lips suggestively.  

"I'll never get any work done, at this rate."

Grell chuckled softly with triumph, and he removed his glasses to place them on the onyx nightstand. "Your clients are dead, darling. They can wait." 

~***~

He allowed Grell to finish removing his clothes for him, and he stroked the rich layers of long, crimson hair as he reclined on the bed and got straddled. Grell kissed him passionately, his teeth cutting into Undertaker's lip a bit in the process. The taste of blood just seemed to turn him on more, and the ancient Shinigami smirked as Grell rubbed against him like a cat in heat, nearly mewling into his kiss.

"We haven't even started yet, love," observed Undertaker with an amused chuckle. 

"I know," sighed Grell dramatically, pressing little kisses all over his face and throat. His hands stroked Undertaker's scarred chest, the fingers kneading gently as he nipped and kissed him. "I've been waiting nearly a week for another encounter like this, though. Damn Will and his stupid overtime, anyhow!" 

"All work and no play, with that one," agreed Undertaker. He gave the redhead's bottom an enthusiastic squeeze, nuzzling his hair. "So, what would you like to do first? I like to satisfy my lady, you know." 

Grell's lips smiled against his collarbone, and he kept steadily migrating further down. "Hmm. You're willing to do anything I want, tonight?" 

"Anything," agreed Undertaker. 

"Even bottom?" 

The older reaper laughed and gave his rear a little pat. "Yes, even bottom, if that's what you want." 

Usually Grell preferred to be the receiver, and Undertaker was quite happy with that. Occasionally though, Grell liked to fuck Undertaker—usually when he was feeling particularly frustrated or jealous. He could be quite the possessive little thing, at times. In contrast, however, he was quite gentle when he topped. He was _very_ demanding as a bottom, though. 

"Mmm, decisions, decisions." Grell licked one of Undertaker's nipples, provoking it to pull taut. He glanced up at him from beneath lowered lids, and he gave him a Cheshire cat grin. "First I want my appetizer, and then I'll decide on the main course." 

Grell curled his fingers around the swollen staff of Undertaker's arousal, and he gave it a squeeze and a gentle tug. Undertaker sighed with appreciation, and he ran his nails over Grell's bare shoulders. Encouraged by his response, Grell squirmed further down on the bed and he pushed Undertaker's thighs apart, before making himself comfortable on his belly between them. He splayed his hands over the pale, battle scarred thighs and he balanced himself so that he could fondle him in his position. While still holding the base of it with one hand, Grell caressed the left side of his cock with his lips, smiling seductively up at him. 

"I adore your hard, long manhood," murmured the redhead dramatically. "I want to kiss your shaft of love from top to bottom." The charming blush in his cheeks grew more pronounced as he licked up and down the entirety of the organ, like it was the most delicious treat he'd had all week. 

Unfortunately, Undertaker had a low giggle tolerance, and Grell's rampant poetry was sometimes a bit more than he could take. Despite the pleasure of his teasing, he found the flowery smut a bit too amusing to ignore, and he snorted with laughter. 

"What?" Demanded Grell with a frown, pausing his loving attentions to give him an annoyed look. "What man doesn't like to get compliments to his endowments?" 

"Oh, I like it," assured Undertaker from behind his hand as he struggled to contain his mirth. "Please, continue. My shaft of love is all yours, kitten." 

Grell gave him a warning bite on the thigh that made him hiss, but it wasn't quite hard enough to draw blood. "Don't make fun of me! I'm passionate!" 

Undertaker cleared his throat, and he caressed the upturned face lovingly. "Yes, you are; and you know I've got a deplorably sensitive funny-bone. You're not going to hold that against me now, are you?" 

Grell sighed grudgingly, accepting the excuse. "Well, try not to laugh at me while I'm servicing your cock. It's insulting and I may decide to use teeth." 

The use of the word "servicing" was in of itself funny to him, and Undertaker snorted again. 

" _Undy!"  
_

He cleared his throat again, realizing that too much more might send Grell into a sulky mood that would take at least a half hour to drag him out of. "Aw, don't be upset, lovely," he soothed. "It's just a little harmless amusement." 

Grell pouted and levered himself off Undertaker's thighs, despite the older reaper's protest. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back on his ankles, looking quite feminine and alluring in his sullen mood. 

"You've spoiled it, now," he announced. "You know, for someone who's been around since the Crusades, you really can be a child." 

Undertaker sighed. 

_~Too late. Now I've gone and done it, haven't I?~  
_

But during his time as Grell's lover, he'd learned a thing or two about how to deal with his volatile nature. Undertaker gave him an engaging smile and he sat up from the pillows, shifting into a sitting position before his moping companion. He tugged his bangs out of his eyes so that he could have a better look at him, and he ran his long black nails down Grell's arm in a sensual caress. Seeing the way his eyes fluttered shut briefly at the contact and detecting the little shiver that ran through him, Undertaker refrained from letting his smile go smug. He kept it warm, inviting and apologetic as he cupped the side of Grell's face with his other hand and kissed his cheek. 

"I didn't mean to spoil it for you, my dear. Let me make it up to you." 

"I think it's going to take more than a smile and a kiss," warned Grell, but he didn't pull away from him. 

"Undoubtedly," agreed Undertaker. He allowed his caress to slide lower, over the corset-encased ribcage and beneath. His hand glided over Grell's hip and he skimmed his nails over the smooth skin as he nibbled his ear. He felt the redhead lean closer to him in reaction, and he smiled. 

"Forgive me yet?" He kissed the spot just beneath Grell's left ear, eliciting a soft, needy sound from him. 

"Mm-mm. That isn't enough." Grell's voice was husky and a little breathless, but he didn't return Undertaker's touches or kisses. "I'm not that easy, darling." 

Understanding that he would get no reciprocation until he satisfied Grell, Undertaker toyed with the garter on his outer thigh, before easing his hand inwards toward the lacy panties and the obvious bulge in them. He looked down to see the rosy tip of Grell's erection peeking out of the panties, and he gave it a pleasant greeting with the pad of his thumb, circling it gently. The action drew a soft gasp of delight from his companion, and Undertaker urged Grell to turn his face with his cupping hand, so that he could kiss him on the lips. He could taste the remnants of his own blood on them, and he licked it away before delving his tongue in between them. 

Despite his intention to be unresponsive, Grell swiped his tongue against Undertaker's impulsively, and his lips softened against his. He made another little noise in his throat when the older reaper tugged the waist of his panties down to expose more of him, and then traced the cap of his sex with a fingernail. 

His kitten always did like intense stimulation, and it typically got him sexed up quite fast. Undertaker took his time, though; kneading the interior of Grell's mouth with his tongue, gliding his nail seductively over the sensitive glans, and running the nails of his free hand through his crimson hair. 

"Little by little," purred Undertaker between kisses. "Have to take my time with you, don't I? Not to worry, love; I understand. I'll enjoy every bit of effort I've got to put into this, too." 

Grell gasped again when Undertaker rubbed his thumb over the tender slit in the tip of his cock, drawing moisture from it. He stopped after a moment and he slipped his fingers beneath the bulge, tickling the concealed area briefly in a way that made Grell squirm in spite of himself. He smiled when he followed up by gently rubbing the pads of his fingers against the spot. Grell was already getting damp. 

He could have played down there a bit more, but Undertaker chose instead to take advantage of another little feature he'd come to learn about Grell Sutcliff. He deftly began to undo the laces up the front of the corset—just enough to loosen the material to tug it down and expose the pink, flat nipples. He circled the left one gently as he kissed him again, and he lightly pinched the right one between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand. Grell moaned into his mouth helplessly, and Undertaker kissed him more deeply, mindful of his teeth. 

Hearing and feeling his breath quicken, Undertaker estimated that he could have him on his back very soon. He kept fondling his nipples, rubbing and squeezing the tight little buds until they were as hard as pebbles from the stimulation. Grell began to squirm in spite of himself from the pleasure of it, and his lips animated against the older reaper's to kiss him back. Undertaker felt a hand settle on his thigh and he smiled in satisfaction. Good. He was caving in nicely. Patience was all well and good in theory, but in practice it was more difficult to come by—especially with a raging hard on.

Grell growled softly in his throat, and the noise was followed by a husky whimper. Undertaker gave both nipples a firm squeeze—just enough to give him a sharp little tingle and make him jump. He left off the sensitized nubs to put his hands on his shoulders and guide him onto his back. Now evidently too excited to resist through words or actions, Grell allowed it. His fingers slid through Undertaker's hair and he moaned his name in excitement, but he still didn't touch him.

That was fine by Undertaker. He was already so aroused, he could hardly hold back. He leaned over the prone redhead, supporting his weight on one arm as he kissed him. He fondled each nipple again and he smiled when Grell arched his back, his brows furrowing with lust.

"You seem more amicable now, little rose," observed Undertaker. He traced the parted lips with his tongue, and he slid his questing hand down over the heaving chest, to the taught stomach. His nails lightly scratched the smooth surface of the satin material as he went, and he paused at Grell's pelvis, just above the panties.

"Do you want me to touch it again?" whispered Undertaker into Grell's ears. He traced a nail over the lacy frill at the waistline of his panties. He looked down at the "it" in question and he saw that it was fairly dribbling with precum. "It's begging to be let out, my love."

"Y-yes," gasped the redhead, his fair features flushed with need. "But you aren't yet…forgiven. Don't think you are!"

He chuckled, knowing he probably wouldn't achieve full forgiveness until he gave his squirming lover his cock. "Soon enough, I'll wager. Soon enough."

He ran his tongue along the racing pulse in Grell's neck as he tugged the panties down to expose Grell's eager, swollen erection. He stroked two fingers along the length of the underside of it and it lifted a little in reaction, as if preening under his touch. Rather than grip it and give it the pet it so clearly desired, Undertaker began to tug one of the ribbons loose from Grell's panties.

"What are you—" Grell started to demand, but Undertaker silenced him with a kiss.

"Relax," murmured the older reaper upon breaking the kiss. "I just want to wrap it up nice and pretty. Lie still for me, dear."

Grell frowned up at him as he sat up, and he started to rise. Undertaker pushed him back down casually with one hand, giving him a warning look that said he would only suck up so much. A grin split Grell's mouth, displaying rows of his shark-like teeth.

"I love it when you're forceful," sighed the crimson reaper, and he obediently lay back down and watched as Undertaker finished untying the ribbon and tugging it free. He gave Undertaker a less than pleased look when he began to lovingly tie the ribbon around the base of his cock, wrapping it several times before tying it into a neat little bow.

"There now," said Undertaker with a satisfied grin. "That should contain some of the mess. I don't have any clean sheets available to change the bedding right now, you know."

"That isn't fair," objected Grell with a frown. "Though I must admit, my cock looks pretty in a pink bow."

"Indeed," agreed Undertaker with a chuckle. "I'll still make sure you reach completion. I always do."

"Yes," agreed Grell with another blushing smile, "you do."

Whatever else Grell might have said got drowned out in a moan of need when his lover's long fingers curled around his bound erection, giving it a firm squeeze and a stroke. Undertaker watched with a sly smile as he moved his hand up and down the length of it. He took a few moments to pleasure him that way, and he teasingly ran his nails over the concealed part beneath it. Grell started to squirm fitfully again, his hands clutching at the bedding as Undertaker's loving attentions heated his passions further.

When the redhead began to pant and whimper, Undertaker started to lose his patience again. He looked at his flushed face, smiling through his own painful need. "Am I forgiven now?"

Grell opened thick-lashed eyes, to gaze back at him. "Nearly," he gasped. "I want to come, first."

Undertaker grinned at that. "I'm still leaving this wrapped," he warned, giving the rose-capped erection one last pet.

Grell thrust into the touch greedily, watching him with demanding, lusty eyes. "As long as I get what I want, you scar-striped fiend."

The ancient chuckled softly, releasing Grell's arousal to let it bounce lightly against his stomach. He found it rather cute, and he gave it another gentle tug to make it do it again. Grell ran his nails over Undertaker's naked thigh, none too gently. The scratch reminded Undertaker that he had more delightful work to do, but he didn't stop him from doing it again. He rather liked it when Grell marked him up a bit. It made him feel like he was being branded.

"Lift your hips up, my dear," encouraged Undertaker as he began to tug Grell's panties down.

Grell was evidently far too eager to get his requested compensation. He complied without hesitation, watching with near desperation as the older reaper eased the panties down. Undertaker kissed his stocking-covered thighs and legs as he went, and Grell bent his knees and lifted them to assist, once the garment was past his calves. Undertaker brought the panties to his face and smelled them, smiling at Grell. He caught a glimpse of the velvety, feminine folds beneath Grell's erection, and his groin throbbed with need. Biting back a groan, he put the panties aside. His arousal threatened to destroy what little sanity he had left.

~***~

Grell tried to contain his excitement and need, but it was very, very difficult. Looking that pale, scar-striped body up and down, he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and he gripped the bed sheets tighter. Undertaker pushed his thighs apart, and he kissed his way back up toward the apex of them. His hair tickled Grell's skin with a silken caress as his lip steadily made their way toward the source of his lusty heat.

"Fancy a lick?" murmured Undertaker with a grin at him.

Grell tried to steady his breathing, and he pretended indifference. "If you like."

There was a low chuckle, and the ancient's warm breath fluttered over his loins. "I think I'd like to taste you, yes. Does that mean I have your permission?"

Grell shut his eyes and nodded, swallowing. He nearly jumped at the first contact when Undertaker's lips pressed against the outer rim, and he shuddered with anticipatory need when they kissed all around the core. His nose bumped against Grell's cock, and Undertaker gripped the swollen and bound length to fondle it. His tongue traced a moist pattern over the inner lips of Grell's female entrance, and then the tip located the clit to flick against it.

"Oh," moaned Grell softly, unable to help himself. He tensed involuntarily when Undertaker took the little pearl between his lips and sucked on it, sending a flash of sensation through his pelvis, spine and legs. "Ah!"

"Easy, love," purred Undertaker, releasing the tender little nub.

He kissed the folds again, and then he licked them slowly, as if savoring the taste. His tongue slipped between the folds to delve inside, and then withdrew, only to do it again. He began to tongue him inside, while his hand stroked his erection. Grell's back arched and his toes curled. The combination of sensations were quickly rendering him helpless, and he called out with wanton adoration to his lover. Undertaker kept going, and with the thumb of his free hand, he rubbed Grell's clit in tiny circles while he pleasured him. He was careful not to stab him with his long nails, and he made full use of his talents to make Grell slippery with need for him.

The orgasm came rather quickly, starting when the pressure inside reached its zenith. He probably would have come with both parts, if Undertaker hadn't bound his erection to prevent it. As it was, he twitched in Undertaker's stroking hand as his inner muscles contracted with orgasmic spasms. He whimpered and tossed his head back and forth on the pillow, biting his lip again. Undertaker kept going, drawing the climax out until Grell gave one final shudder and lay still, panting with bliss.

Undertaker gave him one last, slow lick, before stretching out on top of him. He kissed his throat and he caressed his outer left hip, stroking the skin possessively. "Now," whispered the ancient into Grell's ear, "say I'm forgiven, love."

Grell smiled and put his arms around him, rubbing invitingly against the tip of the erection he felt butting against his damp, readied female entrance. "You're forgiven," he sighed.

Undertaker immediately entered him, slowly driving his hard length in as far as it would go. Grell gasped sharply in his ear and moaned, digging his nails into his back. Undertaker's mouth covered his and he began to move. He took his sweet time with it, as always. He liked to build it up and give his companion time to adjust. Grell appreciated that, because there was nothing so thrilling to him as feeling every inch of Undertaker's cock filling him. He loved the rigid girth, the texture and the way it curved up just a little, making it easier to stimulate the most sensitive spot inside with each thrust. It happened to work just as well when he took him anally, and Grell was never more satisfied with a man's efforts, than with Undertaker's.

He stopped clawing his back to run his hands over it soothingly, and he spread his thighs wider and shifted beneath him, matching his steady, slow thrusts. He looked into the seductive glow of the older reaper's eyes and he admired their shape and the thickness of the silver fringe of lashes surrounding them. He reached up to tuck Undertaker's long, hanging bangs behind his ears so that he could see his face more clearly, and then he stroked his chest and stomach.

Undertaker's lips were parted, and his eyes were a bit glazed with pleasure. He lowered his mouth to Grell's again for another kiss, and their tongues danced sensually together. Undertaker began to thrust more forcibly, and Grell whimpered and embraced him. The silver Shinigami rose up a little on his elbows, and Grell kissed his chest, tonguing the long scar twisting diagonally down the pectorals.

"Sorry, kitten," gasped Undertaker, "I need to…" he growled low in his throat and began to thrust into him hard, drawing a shivering cry from Grell's lips.

"Don't stop," Grell begged when he hesitated at the sound. Still hard and throbbing, his earlier climax wasn't quite enough for him.

Undertaker obliged him, and he grabbed his wrists and held them over his head as he started to take him hard and fast. Grell's fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists, and he wrapped his legs around Undertaker's lean waist. The springs creaked and the bed bumped against the wall, harder and harder. Undertaker's groans filled Grell's ears, blending in with his own cries of pleasure.

"Oh, love," gasped Undertaker between his teeth.

He entwined his fingers with Grell's and squeezed his hands. He levered himself up and paused for a moment, folding his legs beneath him before resuming from a squatting, hunched over position.  

Grell braced his feet on the surface of the bed and he returned the pressure of Undertaker's hands. His erection slapped against his stomach with each thrust, and his toes began to curl again. He blurted a protest when Undertaker slowed and stopped, releasing his hands.

"What are you doing?" panted the redhead, disappointed.

He got his answer in the form of action, not words. Undertake slipped his hands beneath Grell's back and he lifted him from the bed as he leaned back on his haunches. He was so adept at handling him that he remained inside of him the entire time. He grinned at him as he settled him on his lap, and he cupped his hips. Grell put his arms around his neck and sighed, biting his lip as his hardness shifted inside of him.

"You feel so heavenly," he said in all sincerity, and before Undertaker could laugh at his passionate declaration or make some smart-ass remark, he kissed him.

Undertaker obligingly returned the kiss, and he began to pump beneath him again. He groaned low in his throat, his tongue lancing in demandingly to ravish Grell's. Grell undulated on top of him, wrapping his legs around his waist again and crossing his ankles behind Undertaker's back. He released his hold around his neck with one arm and he dragged his nails over his chest. They weren't as long as Undertaker's, but they were sharp enough to leave deep scratches. Undertaker hissed and kissed him more aggressively.

Grell smiled in satisfaction. His love never shied away from a little punishment. Indeed, with the amount of scars on his lean, toned body testified that it took more than a little scratch or bite here and there to hurt him. He really was quite marvelous, when he wasn't spoiling romantic moments with inappropriate humor. Grell could feel the tension rising in him, and he decided he'd held back long enough. It was time for Undertaker to get _his_ reward. He pinched his nipples one at a time, and he bit down on his tongue, just enough to draw a little blood. The older reaper shuddered, and he lifted Grell off the bed with him as he bucked hard into him. He embraced him tightly and he filled him, his breath catching with pleasure.

Grell sucked the blood from his tongue and he stroked his hair, whimpering softly against his lips. Feeling him pulsing inside of him drove him over the edge again, and he enjoyed a second, milder climax. He broke the kiss and he combed Undertaker's bangs out of his eyes with his fingers, watching the way the long, thick silver lashes shaded them. Undertaker's pupils were wide and his gaze was unfocused. Those amazing eyes met and focused on Grell's once he'd spent himself inside of him, and a lazy, sensual smile curved the expressive mouth.

Grell smiled back, unable to help himself. He brushed his thumbs over Undertaker's thin, elegant brows and he kissed his lips tenderly, basking in the afterglow. Undertaker returned the kiss and his embrace softened. He toyed with the ribbons on Grell's corset as they exchanged unhurried kisses.

"You really should stop by more often," sighed Undertaker. 

"Work keeps me busy," reminded Grell with a sigh. He looked down as Undertaker began to remove the ribbon from around his cock. "Otherwise, I'd scarcely leave this room. You _could_ take me out sometime, you know. You could also come to our home realm and visit me for a change." 

Undertaker finished untying the ribbon, and he gently petted Grell's erection as he gazed thoughtfully at him. "You know I won't set foot in Shinigami territory unless I have urgent business to attend." 

Distracted by the feel of his hand fondling him, Grell found it difficult to be annoyed with him. "Yes, you've made that very clear; but you have every right to be there. I don't know how you can bear to live in this primitive mortal world, day in and day out. It has its charms, but don't you ever want to get _away_ from it?" 

"Ah, but _you_ are my escape from the drudgeries of human life," assured Undertaker with a wink and a charming grin. "I don't need the middle realm to give me reprieve." 

Grell shut his eyes and sighed. "I suppose I'll never convince you otherwise, stubborn man." 

Undertaker kissed his cheek, then his jaw. He used his free hand to brush Grell's long, vivid hair to one side and he moved his lips to the exposed side of his neck. "I think we can arrange a night out, however. I don't keep much currency, but maybe you'd fancy a picnic." 

Grell smiled brightly, enthused with the idea. "Really? You'll take me on a nice, candle-lit, romantic picnic?" 

Undertaker chuckled. "Why not? It could be entertaining. You're more than a shag to me, love." 

Grell blushed and squirmed. "You're going to cause the mess you were trying to avoid, if you keep talking to me and touching me this way." 

Undertaker looked down at the rigid shaft he was stroking. "Hmm. I know a way to avoid that. I can ease this condition without spilling a drop, I think." 

He rolled forward, easing Grell onto his back again as he withdrew from him. He kissed his way down his body, and Grell grabbed hold of the pillows as he demonstrated his meaning with his mouth. 

~***~ 

All good things had to come to an end, unfortunately. Grell slept over that night, and he awoke in the morning to find a black rose, a note, and one of Undertaker's famous bone-shaped cookies on the pillow beside him. 

_"My dear Grell,  
_

_I have business on the other side of town this morning, to restock my supplies. Sorry to rush off while you were asleep, but you looked so comfortable and sweet, I couldn't bring myself to wake you. Help yourself to a hot bath and some tea if you like; you know where I keep it. If I don't make it back before you go, be a dear and lock up on your way out. We can arrange our date for whatever evening you would like. I look forward to it.  
_

_-Your Shaft of Love,_

_Undertaker"  
_

Grell huffed with annoyance at the last part. Leave it to the old spook to turn a gloriously romantic note into a crude joke. He nearly balled up the slip of paper to throw it away, but he looked at it thoughtfully and shrugged, instead. He could scratch out that ridiculous bit about the shaft of love. The rest of it was quite sweet. Stretching comfortably on the bed, Grell twirled the stem of the rose between his thumb and forefinger, mindful of the thorns. He knew where it came from: Undertaker kept a couple of bushes out back of his shop, and he tended them every day. Grell smiled as he smelled the fragrance of the rose. This was the best one yet. He would press it in his favorite book, like the others. 

"I'm getting quite the collection," he said with a grin. 

Red, black and white were the colors of the roses Undertaker grew, and he always clipped one just for him with each visit. Even though he made fun of Grell's tendency to wax poetic, Undertaker had a romantic streak that made his heart swell. He smiled at the rose, even as he looked at the clock on the wall and sighed at the time. He'd have to hurry, if he was going to make it to work in time. Thank goodness it was only a half-day, or he wouldn't have been able to stay the night in Undertaker's arms. 

With a little sigh of regret, Grell sat up and grabbed his glasses off the nightstand. He clicked the lamp on and looked around for his clothes. Sometime during the night, Undertaker must have removed his corset and stockings to make him more comfortable. He smiled when he saw them lying on the trunk at the foot of the bed, but his smile faded when his gaze settled on the folded clothing sitting next to them. 

His work clothes; Grell had brought them with him knowing that he would probably spend the night. He didn't mind wearing suits and ties and vests for work, though he preferred more feminine attire when he was off the clock. He resented having to go to work, when he would much rather spend the day with his lover. Undertaker had work to do as well, though. Grell looked at the note again, and he set it and he rose down on the nightstand. He needed to get cleaned up and dressed, if he wasn't going to make it to work on time.   

~***~ 

"You're late, Grell Sutcliff." 

Grell resisted an instinctive cringe as he stepped into the elevator with his superior. "Sorry about that, Willikins. My watch is off." He withdrew the item from his vest pocket for William's inspection. "It hasn't been keeping time properly, lately." 

William narrowed his eyes at Grell, not even bothering to look at the timepiece. "What have I told you about addressing me that way in the workplace?" 

"We aren't on the clock yet," pointed out Grell with a wink. He knew it drove Will crazy when he used "pet" versions of his name—and that was precisely why he did it. Provoking some response from the perfect, cold bastard was a favorite office pastime of his. 

"Regardless," huffed William, "I am not 'Willikins', nor am I 'Spear-Bear' or 'Chilly Willy'. You will conduct yourself with some semblance of professionalism, from henceforth. We have an inspection day approaching, and I don't need your clownish antics making this department look bad." 

Grell sighed. The elevator paused on its way up, and the slight lurch made his stomach protest. He put a hand over his abdomen and he swallowed sudden nausea. "You know Will, a bit of fun in the office could really improve worker morale. You don't have to be so bloody stiff, all the time." 

Grell poked him. "I wonder if you might shatter, sometimes." He nearly added that he could probably use a good shag, but he refrained. 

William parted his lips to say something that probably wouldn't have been polite, but the doors opened to admit three more reapers. He kept his thoughts to himself, but he gave the redhead a glare that promised even more overtime, if he didn't conduct himself accordingly. 

~***~  

"Hey, Senpai." Ronald casually hopped up on Grell's desk and had a seat, after dropping his paperwork down on it. He gave him a "death" sign as a salute, along with his usual, easy-going smile. "Ten souls, tagged and bagged. When are they going to give me a challenge? Weekends are so _boring_ to work." 

"We're backed up," answered Grell with a shrug. He shook his bangs aside and he thumbed through Ronald's report. "At least _you_ get to go out reaping today. I'm stuck behind this desk. He does it to punish me, I swear!" 

Ronald chuckled, and he picked up Grell's crystal ball paperweight to juggle it lightly, from one hand to the other. "Well, yeah. You're always pushing his buttons, seeing how much you can get away with. You're a bad influence on little ol' innocent me, Sutcliff Senpai." 

"Put my paperweight down," commanded Grell. "That isn't a toy, you brat." 

Ronald did as he was told. "Sorry. It's just…I still have two hours to go and I've already done all my work." 

"Then help me with this paperwork," suggested Grell with an encompassing gesture at the documents. "There's no reason either of us should suffer alone." 

Ron made a face. "Can't I just get you some coffee or something?" 

"Yes, you can," agreed the redhead with a smirk. "Get yourself some too. There's a lot of paperwork to do here. Oh Ronnie, don't look at me like that. We _both_ have places we'd rather be." 

Ronald's gaze went to the perfect, single black rose sitting in the delicate fluted glass vase on Grell's desk. He gave his mentor a sly, crooked smile. "That's a new one. I'm guessing your 'other place' would be at Undertaker's musky old shop." 

"It's not 'musky'," defended Grell. "The back of it is actually quite nice. He uses incense to keep the smells from the basement from wafting up." He began to fill out one of the reports, considering that the end of the matter. 

"Okay." Ronald shrugged. "I still have to ask what you see in that guy, though. He's not the type you usually go for." 

Grell paused in his writing, and he smiled. No, Undertaker certainly wasn't the sort of man he usually preferred. His "type" was usually aloof, mannerly, perfectly immaculate and well-groomed. William T. Spears and Sebastian Michaelis were both shining examples of the sort of men Grell usually went for. Undertaker was nothing like them. He invested himself in his interactions, to the point where the attention made some people uncomfortable. He liked to chat with people, he liked to smile, he wasn't generally mannerly at all, and he was on the unkempt side. 

"He has…qualities." Grell blushed as he considered some of those qualities, not the least of which included amazing talent with his tongue. It wasn't just the sex, though. Undertaker knew the truth about his unique physiology, and he not only accepted it completely, he embraced it. 

"Qualities, eh?" Ronald took a pen from the skull holder on Grell's desk, and he twirled it deftly between his fingers. "He must have a huge—" 

" _Ronald_!" Interrupted Grell. "That's no way to speak to a lady!" 

The younger Shinigami rolled his eyes, but he humored Grell. "I was going to say 'heart'." 

Grell choked back a laugh. " _Sure_ you were." He shook the end of his pen at him. "I know exactly where that sentence was going, Ronnie. I trained you, and I know you better than anyone in this department." 

Grell sighed and propped his chin in his hand, thinking of Undertaker. "He _does_ have a big cock, though." 

"Senpai!" 

Grell looked up at his shocked subordinate, and he grinned sharply. "What? You know you were going to ask." 

"What happened to 'ladies never tell'?" demanded Ronald, one brow lifting to his feathered blond hairline. 

"I said you shouldn't ask a lady such things," corrected Grell. "I said nothing about a lady choosing to share her opinions of her own volition." 

"That's not what I remember," sighed Ronald. "Well, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not hear more about Undertaker's…stuff." 

The redhead giggled. "Why Ronald, I believe you're blushing." 

Ronald mumbled something and looked away. "So, you really like this guy, huh? I'd say he's too old for you, but with our kind I guess age doesn't matter." 

"No, it doesn't," agreed Grell. He withdrew a locket that he kept safely hidden in an inner pocket of his vest, near his heart. He opened it up and showed the little painting of Undertaker to his companion. "But just _look_ at him, Ronald. Look at that smile!" 

Ronald adjusted his glasses on his nose and looked. "Yeah, I see it. In fact, it's almost _all_ I can see. The guy's all hair and teeth under that hat, Senpai. It's all you can see of him." 

Grell looked at the picture and pouted. "You don't find his smile handsome, even though you can't see the rest of his face?" 

Ronald shrugged, spreading his hands in a benign gesture. "No, I find it spooky, but I don't go for guys, so I'm not really the one to ask. What does he look like under that mop of hair, anyway?" 

"Gorgeous," sighed Grell. 

When Ronald gave him a dubious look, he clucked his tongue. "You're so narrow-minded, Ronnie." 

"Hey, you take that back." Ronald gave him a quasi-hurt look. "I work under _you_ don't I? I have to have an open mind." 

Grell raised a finger to offer a rebuttal to that, but he really didn't have one. He ended up grinning instead, and when Ronald smirked back at him, they both chuckled softly. "You win this round," admitted Grell. "But honestly, if you were to ever catch a glimpse of the face beneath that hair, you would eat your words, Ronald." 

"I doubt it." 

Grell sighed with annoyance. "Do you really think I would fib about this? You said yourself that he isn't my usual type." 

Ronald nodded. "Yes, I did, and that obviously means he did something that made you see past his looks. It's okay, Senpai. If he makes you happy, that's all I really care about." 

Grell dragged gloved fingers through his hair in annoyance. "But you don't understand. Of _course_ , he needed to show me something to make me see past his weird giggles and his creepy way of moving. I used to look at him the way you do, but then…" 

Grell trailed off, remembering. 

"Then what, Grell?" prompted Ronald with interest. 

"Shh, I'm having a flashback," snapped the redhead. He recalled the evening he'd sought comfort from Undertaker, and how it resulted in a friendship that quickly blossomed into romance. He smiled dreamily, overcome by sentiment. He would never forget how _good_ it felt for someone to just comfort him like that, without any ulterior motive. He would never forget how surprised and happy it made him feel, when he revealed his secret to Undertaker and got nothing but support and understanding from him. 

"He knows what it's like to be…different," murmured Grell. "He's always been misunderstood, Ronnie. I didn't realize it at first, of course, but then he lifted me up in a moment of pure despair, and that was when I saw it." 

Grell looked at his apprentice with a little smirk. "People see him as a legend or a madman or both, but he's not so different from the rest of us. He loves his work, he has his hobbies, and he can get bored or lonely, like anyone else. Personally in my time getting to know him, I've found him _much_ more approachable than most other reapers. I can talk to him about things I don't dare mention to anyone else, and he listens and accepts me for who I am." 

Ronald frowned. "Hey, you can talk to _me_ about stuff, too. What does that old funeral bat have that I don't?" 

Grell chuckled, amused and endeared in spite of himself. He stood up and he reached over the desk to ruffle the younger man's hair affectionately. "Tact, for one thing. Oh, don't take it personally. I'm smitten and you know damned well I tend to go off the dramatic deep end when I talk about men I adore." 

Ronald faked a pout. "You don't adore me too?" 

Grell laughed and chucked him playfully in the shoulder. "Quit being coy. You know I'd have someone's head in an instant, if they ever hurt you. I'm…grateful…that you care enough to worry about my happiness." 

The younger man perked up and grinned. "Well, you're my Senpai. I've got to make sure you're being treated right." 

Feeling far too sentimental for his own good, Grell swallowed and decided a change of subject was in order. He checked the clock on the wall and he shrugged. "Lunch is close enough, I think. Let's grab a bite early, and get back to this paperwork later. Maybe I'll go out with you on your next assignment. I could stand to get out of the office, for a bit." 

"No arguments here," agreed Ronald. "How about we order some sushi? I'm sick of cafeteria food and hamburgers." 

Grell nodded. "Mm, sushi sounds—" his stomach immediately protested at the thought when he pictured a nice salmon nigiri, and he placed a hand over it and grimaced. "On second thought, I don't think I'm that hungry." 

Ronald gave him a concerned look. "You feeling okay? You look a little green, all the sudden." 

Grell shrugged. "It's just a bit of nausea. I'll be fine." 

"Hmm. Well, I could order you something anyway. You might get hungry later." 

Grell thought of it and shrugged. This was the third day in a row he'd suffered bouts of sudden nausea. They mostly happened during the morning, but sometimes smells seemed to provoke it, too. "Okay, Ronnie. Maybe I'm just overworked. Be a dear and bring me some tea, when you go to order the food. It might settle my stomach." 

"Okay." Ronald gave him a wave and he hopped off the desk to go.       

~***~ 

It wasn't going away on its own, and Grell had just about decided that he might need to see Dr. Francis about it when it came to a head. He was again late for work after spending the night with Undertaker, and he cringed as usual when he stepped into the elevator and found William there waiting for him. 

"What do you do, time it?" he snapped, feeling too sore and sick to his stomach to bother attempting a respectful tone with him. 

William adjusted his glasses and looked down his nose at him. "Apparently better than you do, Grell Sutcliff. You're late, as usual. Even Knox arrives at work on time more often than you do, these days. Care to explain why?" 

Grell sighed. "I've just had a bit of trouble keeping track of time, Will. I'm sorry. I'll try to do better."

 "Hmm, I've heard that before."

 

Grell put a hand over his mouth as the elevator started up, and he looked at the supervisor with wary eyes. He swallowed several times, and he turned away when William frowned at him. 

"What is your problem now, Sutcliff? Are you hungover?" 

Grell shook his head. "Haven't…had a drop to drink since last week," he said honestly. Undertaker offered some wine to him the night before when he served him dinner, but Grell couldn't bear the smell of it. He burped at the thought of it, and he moved away from William to brace himself against the railing against the elevator wall. 

He felt William's hand grab his shoulder none too gently, and he shut his eyes and willed his stomach to behave itself as he was turned around to face the taller man. "You're on the brink of demotion again, Grell. I can't keep making excuses for you, and your reaping skills are all that keeps higher management from dropping you down to field worker status, again." 

"Then let them drop me," muttered the redhead crossly. "I really don't care right now, Will." 

The brunet frowned at him. "I put in a good word for you, and if you humiliate me—" 

At that moment, the elevator stopped on the next floor and the motion of it destroyed what remained of Grell's control over his stomach. Before William could finish his sentence, the crimson reaper bent over and puked all over his expensive, polished shoes. 

William stood there with a frozen expression of importance on his face, staring down at the mess his subordinate had made of his shoes and the floor. The door opened, and Alan stopped in mid-step when he saw Grell retching all over William's shoes. 

"Um…I'll take the next one," said Alan. 

The elevator doors slid shut, and Grell straightened back up slowly, reaching for the handkerchief in his pocket with a trembling hand. He'd somehow managed not to get any in his hair, but the muffins Undertaker had made him were now splattered all over the floor and Will's shoes. 

"Will," gasped Grell as he leaned against the wall and wiped off his mouth and nose. "I'm…so sorry. It just came up so suddenly, I…" 

The elevator started to ascend again, and the motion threatened to make his stomach heave even more. He made sure to stay as far away from his companion as possible, but the damage was already done. William was staring down at his soiled shoes with a raised brow, and he lifted his gaze slowly to glare at Grell. 

"Charming," he muttered, shaking his left shoe in a vain attempt to rid it of the mess. "Honestly, you are such a disgrace. Is there anything else you could possibly do to…Grell?" 

The redhead's eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed before William could even finish his admonishment. 

~***~ 

William immediately took Grell to headquarters infirmary, and they called his personal doctor in to look at him. He got cleaned up as best he could and he had maintenance take care of the mess in the elevator. Once he organized that, he waited as patiently as possible for a prognosis. He phoned his office and let them know he would be late, and he had Ronald take over Grell's paperwork for the day. 

Nearly two hours passed, before Dr. Francis came out to meet William in the waiting room. He shook hands with him and he requested that he follow him into his office to discuss Grell's condition in private. More concerned than he cared to admit, William followed him as requested and he took a seat at his desk. 

"Please do me the courtesy of passing over any small talk," William advised. "I would like to know what's the matter with my coworker." 

"Of course," agreed the doctor, "but you may want to brace yourself, Mr. Spears. What I'm about to tell you may come as a bit of a shock." 

William took a deep breath, and he thought of Grell's behavior over the past month or so. "Is it narcotics abuse?" 

"Nothing like that," answered the doctor with a chuckle. He took his seat at the desk and he combed his fingers through his sandy blond hair, looking as though he were searching for words. He finally shrugged. "There's really no delicate way to say it, I suppose. Mr. Sutcliff is expecting." 

William stared blankly at him. 

"As in a baby," elaborated Dr. Francis helpfully. "He's pregnant." 

The Dispatch Supervisor gazed at him levelly, and he raised an elegant brow. "If Sutcliff put you up to this, you can tell him it doesn't amuse." 

"It's no prank, I assure you," explained the doctor. "The truth is, Grell is quite different from the average Shinigami, and before I can give you any details, I need you to swear an oath not to reveal this information to anyone. I've already violated doctor/patient confidentiality by telling you this much, as it is." 

William continued to stare mistrustfully at him. "Why would you even bother telling me this much, if confidentiality is so important to you?" 

Dr. Francis sighed. "Because you're his oldest friend, William. Even if you don't consider yourself as such, Grell is quite fond of you and he's known you since the beginning of his life as a Shinigami. If you can't respect that enough to hear what I have to say, so be it." 

William felt a tension of worry inside of him, and he tried to disguise his concern. "Explain to me how a man can be pregnant." 

"You swear it will go no further than this room?" 

William nodded. "I swear." 

~***~ 

Unfortunately, William's word didn't count for much when he discovered the truth. He knew Grell was involved with Undertaker and he'd begun to suspect that the ancient was having an influence on how he behaved, but he couldn't have predicted something like _this_. After discussing the matter with the doctor and being reassured that Grell's fainting spell was nothing dire, William decided that at least _one_ person outside the room needed to know about it. He informed his secretary that he was stepping out for the day on an urgent matter, and he traversed the realms to the mortal world to pay the father of Grell's baby a little visit. 

~***~ 

Undertaker made the final touches to his newest coffin, and he stood back to admire the handiwork. He grinned and nodded in satisfaction. The rose filigree lining the edges would be most pleasing to the family of the deceased. He was getting quite good at engraving, metalwork and wood burning. With countless years to practice, he'd picked up quite a few artistic talents. 

"Quite nice, if I do say so," he murmured. Maybe he could make something nice for his love. A pendant, perhaps, with a gold rose filigree on a polished— 

The door to his shop banged open as if kicked in, and it knocked the bell right off of its fastening, sending it tumbling to the floor with a pathetic, sick sound. Undertaker straightened up from his squatting position with surprise as he looked at the backlit figure standing in his doorway. He didn't recognize him at first, because the sun was coming in at an angle that shadowed his facial features. The voice, however, gave the visitor away.

"Pardon the intrusion," announced William T. Spears in an icy tone, "but you've impregnated one of my staff." 

Undertaker crinkled his nose and dropped his soldering iron to the floor in confusion. 

~***~ 

-To be continued  


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh really now, Mr. Spears," scoffed Undertaker, shaking himself out of his initial surprise. He bent over to pick up the item he dropped. "I assure you, that isn't possible. The last time I was with a woman was some fifty years ago, and she was human—and therefore reproductively incompatible with me."

"I'm not talking about a woman," corrected William. "Well, not _exactly_."

Undertaker froze. He couldn't mean…

"Grell is pregnant," said William tersely, watching his reactions closely, "and unless he's been involved with someone besides you for the past two months, it stands to reason that you are the father."

Undertaker dropped his soldering iron again. "Oh."

William narrowed his eyes. "No denial, then? No scoffing?"

Undertaker again bent over to retrieve his crafting tool, and this time, he replaced it in its tray to prevent further dropping. Obviously, William knew Grell's secret. He wasn't the sort to pull a prank like this. He could, however, be testing him.

"Why don't you have a seat," offered the mortician. "I'll prepare some tea and we can have a sit down." 

William nodded, giving a distasteful glance at the coffins lying about in various positions. "Very well. I'm sure this comes as a bit of a shock." 

"That's putting it mildly," chuckled Undertaker. His hat felt too light, and he reached up to pat it and reassure himself that it wasn't floating off of his head. The floor had an oddly springy feel to it as he strode across it to the curtained alcove in the back. He certainly _was_ in a state of shock, he realized. He was even a bit light-headed. He rather enjoyed the sensation, and he smiled. 

"Just make yourself comfortable, Mr. Spears," he said, feeling as if the offer was coming from someone else's lips. "This won't take a moment." 

~***~ 

However William was expecting the Undertaker to react to his news, this certainly wasn't it. He seemed politely amused by it all, and the Dispatch manager watched him carefully as he sipped his hot tea. 

"So you're telling me," Undertaker said as he dropped a few lumps of sugar into his drink and stirred it, "that my lovely Grell is expecting. Is this correct?" 

William nodded. "That _is_ what I said upon arrival, yes. Do you need to take a moment?" 

Undertaker shook his head. "One moment too long in my head leads to disaster, Spears." 

He sighed and removed his hat, setting it on the lid of the coffin beside him. He stared at the brunet wordlessly as he sipped from his beaker, making William feel an uncommon urge to squirm. Undertaker was probably the only person in creation that could intimidate him, and he just kept _staring_. He couldn't see more than a glimpse of his vivid eyes beneath the shag of his long bangs, but William could feel them boring into him, as if pealing away all of his defensive layers, to strip him bare and see what was underneath. 

"What do you intend to do?" William finally asked, uncomfortable under that unwavering stare. 

Undertaker leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. He lowered his head contemplatively, and he tapped his long fingernails together. "What will I do? That all depends on you, Mr. Spears. I should like some answers, before I decide." 

William frowned at him. "Surely you know how this happened." 

"Do I?" Undertaker smiled. 

"Well, yes," insisted William. "You've been sleeping with him. You _have_ to be aware of his…er…additional features." 

Undertaker snorted. "You make him sound like one of your technological doohickeys. I take this to mean then that my Grell finally shared his secret with you?" 

William faltered. "Not…exactly." 

Undertaker cocked his head to one side. "Come, come now. Either he told you or he didn't. You didn't perhaps discover it by accident, did you? Have you been peeping on my lovely redhead, Mr. Spears?" 

In response to the sudden menace in his smile, William hastened to correct him. "Absolutely _not_! I would never—" 

"No, of course you wouldn't," interrupted the mortician with a neglectful wave of a clawed hand. He reached for his drink and he took a sip. "You're too proper." 

Confused now, William stubbornly kept his expression as neutral as possible. "Sutcliff told me nothing. His doctor informed me today, after he collapsed in the elevator and I had to bring him to the medical ward." 

Undertaker's expression softened. Though it was hard to tell with that fringe half-covering his face, William thought he detected a shadow of worry in his features. "Collapsed, you say?" 

"After vomiting on my shoe," confirmed the brunet candidly. He sipped his tea before continuing. "His doctor told me everything. I had no idea before today. As feminine as Grell acts, I never would have suspected he's…he's…" He struggled for words to describe it, without sounding crude or hurtful. 

"Androgynous," supplied Undertaker calmly, "and there isn't a thing wrong with that." 

"I did not suggest otherwise," muttered William uncomfortably, tugging at his tie to loosen it. It was beginning to feel like there wasn't enough air in the room—which was silly, since reapers didn't require air to live. 

"Your hesitation and tone suggests that you aren't all that comfy with his anatomy," Undertaker pointed out, but he shrugged. "I suppose I can't expect more of you, though." 

"I assure you, I think no less of him," insisted William, flushing with shame he couldn't even understand. "I'm still trying to come to terms with this. I've known him since we were born as reapers, and to learn that he is not only a hermaphrodite, but pregnant, is rather shocking. You, on the other hand, seem remarkably calm—and you're the father." 

"Hmm." Undertaker ran his tongue over his teeth in thought. "I needed to be sure you weren't testing me. Is he still under medical care?" 

"They haven't released him yet," answered William. "I presume he's woken up, however." 

"And did he know about his condition, before he collapsed?" 

"I have no idea." William frowned at him again. "Does it matter?" 

"Because it's just now hitting me, and I'm wondering why he didn't tell me this himself." 

William blinked in surprise as Undertaker suddenly downed his entire beaker of tea, spilling some out the corners of his mouth in the process. "I suppose the best way to find out is to ask him yourself. I wasn't even supposed to tell you. His doctor only informed me because I'm his superior and…and…" 

"Friend?" finished Undertaker with a wry smirk. He wiped his mouth off with his sleeve and he looked at the empty beaker with a frown. "I think I'll need something a lot stronger than this." 

William sighed. "Grell and I have always suffered a volatile relationship." 

"And yet here you are, demanding I make an honest lady of him," mused Undertaker with a grin. He got up and he combed his fingers through his hair, parting the silky pallor of it to reveal his scarred, compelling visage. "I'd offer you a brandy, Mr. Spears—Styx knows I could use one, but I think I should gather some things and visit the Shinigami hospital. Can I assume by your actions that you're willing to provide me the clearance pass I need to visit him?" 

William nodded, relaxing. "Of course. I'll wait for you to gather whatever you need. Can I take this to mean that you intend to take some responsibility for this situation?" 

Undertaker snickered as if he found that funny, and William scowled, for once putting aside his respect for this Shinigami. "Sutcliff is in this situation partially because of _you_. I would hope that you would do the honorable—" 

"Don't get your knickers in a bunch, Spears," advised the mortician, clearing his throat. "I've no intention of abandoning him." 

"Then what did you find so amusing about my comment?" 

Undertaker shrugged, grinning at him. "It's just a funny thing to say. How can I not take responsibility for my part in this? I was there, after all." His grin broadened. "Oh yes, I was there." 

William sighed. "Some men don't share your attitude." 

"Hmm, and that's a sad thing. Well, make yourself comfortable while I collect a few minor things, then." 

~***~ 

"Well, Mr. Sutcliff, it appears you've proven me wrong, after all. Congratulations; you're pregnant." _  
_

Grell replayed the news over and over in his mind, still shocked to his very core. According to Dr. Francis, he was in good health. The only thing he expressed concern over was slightly low blood pressure—which he blamed for Grell's fainting spell. He said he wanted to keep him overnight for observation just to be safe, and he ran some blood tests to be sure everything was as it should be. He said his immunity system was a bit on the weak side, but that was a fairly common side effect of pregnancy. 

Grell lay there alone in his little infirmary room, absently flipping through the pages of the book left for him by the nurse. The words left his mind as soon as he read them, and his free hand settled on his stomach of its own accord. He licked his lips and looked down, splaying his fingers wide over the lower abs. He tried to imagine what it would be like when his belly started to get round with his condition. 

He was going to be a Mum. 

It was both terrifying and exhilarating. He wasn't sure how he actually _felt_ about it, but he knew that he might never get this opportunity again. No longer did he have to look upon other couples and wonder what it was like to be expecting new life. No longer did he need to envy women for their ability to have babies with the men they loved. 

He still _did_ have to envy them their ability to do this without raising questions, though. Women were expected to bear children. He, on the other hand, was not. Male in every way but for one part on the outside and inside, Grell was truly caught between worlds. That was the part that terrified him the most. He would need to have his clothing custom tailored as his condition progressed. He couldn't purchase common maternity clothes to wear. He didn't know what kind of food he needed to eat. Maybe his body had different needs. 

Most of all, he had no idea how to tell Undertaker. 

"Oh heavens," sighed Grell unhappily at the thought. "What if he thinks I did this on purpose, to entrap him?" 

It didn't seem beyond the realm of possibility, to the anxious redhead. He'd told Undertaker there wasn't a chance of him getting pregnant, after all. Since discovering how good it felt to make love that way, Grell insisted on taking him inside his female entrance, more often than not. He still took it anally sometimes, and on rare occasion he took Undertaker that way, too. Still, he preferred vaginal penetration the most, and now he worried that it might appear he was deliberately trying to get pregnant. 

The door to his room clicked open and there was a knock on it, startling Grell out of his thoughts. He quickly dropped the book to his stomach and shut his eyes, doing his best to appear asleep. He heard the door swing open slowly, with nary a squeak from the well-tended hinges. He heard the soft, barely perceptible footfalls of booted feet approaching, and he could smell Undertaker's scent and sense his dark, comforting presence. He impulsively drew a deep breath, taking in the fragrance of black opium incense that clung to him. He loved that smell, and he was relieved to find that it didn't make him nauseous, as some other smells had been doing lately. 

It occurred to Grell that Undertaker was actually _there_ , in a Shinigami hospital. He'd sworn so many times never to set foot in this realm unless it was…an…emergency… 

It struck him, then. Undertaker was there because of him. Someone must have gotten word to him about his collapse in the elevator—probably Ronnie, if Grell knew his underling. Anxiety and sentiment warred within him at the realization that this man had just come to a place he was practically phobic of, just to see if he was okay. He very nearly sat up to hug him as Undertaker stopped at his bedside, but he maintained his act and lay still, trying to remember to keep his breathing slow and steady. 

"Grell," murmured Undertaker in that soft, lulling voice. 

When he wasn't giggling like a loon or trying to scare people, he really did have a pleasant, sexy voice. A cool hand brushed his bangs away from Grell's forehead, and the caress of long fingernails over his cheek and jaw made him want to shiver with pleasure. 

"Love, I'm here," murmured Undertaker. 

The long hand pulled away from Grell's face, to settle on top of his hand. Undertaker gave it a gentle squeeze, and he leaned over him. Grell could feel his shadow blocking out some of the light against his eyelids, and tendrils of silken hair caressed his face. He felt the press of velvet lips against his, and it was all he could do not to put his arms around his neck and hold him tight. 

"I had to come, when I found out," sighed Undertaker against his mouth. "Leave it to you to get an old codger like me to put one toe back into this plane." 

The lips smiled against his, and Grell fought the urge to smile in response. 

"I'll leave you to your rest, darling," Undertaker said. "We should talk later on, you and I. Seems to me we've got some plans to make for the future." 

Grell's brow furrowed at that, and a feeling of dread washed over him. He was talking like he knew, but how could he? Grell and his doctor were the only ones that knew of his condition, yet—unless the good doctor fibbed to him when he asked if he said anything to his coworkers or supervisor. 

"Grell?" 

The redhead nearly swore. He'd given himself away with his frown, and Undertaker had apparently noticed the little change in his expression. The older reaper stroked his hair again, and when Grell didn't move or respond, he leaned over to press a kiss against his forehead. 

"I'll be back," promised Undertaker softly. "Until then, rest easy." 

He wanted to reach out to him so badly, but Grell desperately needed time to think, and to decide how and if he was going to tell him. He had to though, didn't he? Undertaker would find out eventually, and the only way to prevent that would be to stop seeing him and stay out of the mortal realms until after the baby came. 

"No," moaned Grell softly, before he could stop himself. The thought of never being with Undertaker again physically pained him. He immediately hushed up when the hand returned to stroke his hair soothingly. 

"Shh," comforted Undertaker. "It's just a nightmare, my dear. Undy won't let anything harm you." 

Grell thought his heart might break then and there…until the older reaper began to chuckle. 

"'Undy'," muttered the funeral director. "I just can't take myself seriously when I use your pet name like that. Merciful death, you even make me laugh when you're unconscious."   

Grell's warm, mushy feelings of endearment quickly evaporated under the heat of his annoyance. He compressed his lips tightly enough to make his teeth dig into them, and he sat up abruptly. 

"Must you spoil _everything_?" he demanded huffily. He came close to throttling the silly old lunatic right then and there, but Undertaker prudently stepped back and regarded him with subtle surprise, keeping out of his reach. 

"My, that woke you up quickly." He grinned broadly at him, and he held out a lovely, single red rose. "I thought you might be playing possum, but you seemed to have a bit of a nightmare, so I wasn't sure. Usually, you don't breathe when you're asleep. Here, I brought you this." 

Grell winced at his own mistake. "I was…dozing. I was just awake enough to hear you ruin a perfectly sweet, romantic line with your silly nonsense." 

"You know I talk to myself sometimes," chuckled Undertaker, "and in my defense, you were 'dozing'." 

Grell sighed. "Fine. Give me my rose." 

Undertaker clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and he handed the rose and the little fluted vase he carried it in over to him. Grell brought the blossom to his nose and he breathed in the scent, shutting his eyes. 

"It's beautiful," he said with a sidelong smile at his lover, forgiving him slightly. "I really can't believe you came to bring it yourself." 

Undertaker watched as he placed the flower on the nightstand. "I have good reason to come here. I've never known you to pass out without warning, love." 

Grell unconsciously swiped his tongue over suddenly dry lips, and he swallowed. "It was just exhaustion," he excused. "I think I just need a little time off. We've all been working day and night this past month, and I haven't gotten enough rest."

"Then perhaps it's time you take an extended leave of vacation," suggested Undertaker, his eyes glinting beneath the concealment of his bangs. "Since you're in such a delicate state, and all." 

Again feeling like he knew more than he was letting on, Grell forced a laugh. The sound didn't come out as casual and carefree as he would have liked. " _Believe_ me, now isn't the time. It's storm season, and there are so many boating and train accidents, this time of year. The death toll always rises and we reapers are constantly on the move." 

"Of course," agreed the ancient with a sigh. He didn't look very happy. "Well, you just be sure you get more rest, then. At the very least, put in a request not to be assigned more overtime, until the doctor is satisfied that you're in good enough health for it." 

Undertaker bent over him and he gave him a brief kiss on the lips. "I'm going to go and set up some lodging. I'll pop back in to check on you in a while." He straightened back up and he began to walk toward the door. 

"Lodging?" repeated Grell, his eyes going wide behind the lenses of his glasses. "Y-you're staying here, on this side?" 

Undertaker paused with his hand poised over the knob, but he didn't turn. "I have more important things to concern me than my dislike of Shinigami authority, my love. I will stay until I know you're safe." 

Grell bit his lip, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. Damn the man, but he could go from being a jester to being the most romantic, loyal… 

"Undertaker, wait," he begged, pulling the covers aside to get up. 

The older man half-turned to look at him, and when he saw Grell's bare legs swing over the side of the hospital bed, he shook his head and glided back over to him at startling speed. "Don't you dare get out of that bed," he admonished before the redhead could place so much as one toe on the floor. 

"Hey," protested Grell as he was scooped up, turned and placed back in the middle of the bed. "I'm not some doll you can just—" 

Undertaker's mouth covered his abruptly, silencing his protest. "So sorry, dearest, but you aren't to leave the bed without assistance, until morning comes and they've determined your blood pressure is back to normal." 

"It's a lot of fuss over nothing," huffed Grell, straightening his hospital gown as much as he could. He allowed himself the pleasure of being tucked in by his lover, though. He sobered when he thought of how attentive he was being to him, and he sighed. 

He had to tell him. 

"Undertaker, I need to confess something to you," Grell said. His voice squeaked at the end of the sentence, and he covered his mouth with his hand, mortified. Determined to retain some dignity, he cleared his throat. "Sit down and stay a moment, my love. Take your hat off and comb your hair away from your eyes, so that I can see you when I say this." 

Undertaker readily did as he requested, dropping his hat on the foot of the bed as he took a seat on the edge of it. Grell sat up straighter and he reached out to stroke the soft, pale hair away from his love's eyes. He silently pleaded for courage as he gazed into those hypnotic, languorous eyes, and he took a deep, shaken breath. 

"There's more to my passing out than exhaustion," he admitted. "I have the creeping suspicion you know that." 

"I might have a theory or two," agreed Undertaker with a smirk. "Go on, love." 

Grell again wondered if it was possible that Undertaker knew he was pregnant, and that led him to wondering if he might have even known before Grell himself found out. "I know I told you that it could never happen to me," he went on softly. He lowered his gaze as he stroked the solitary little braid woven into Undertaker's thick hair. "I really never believed it could. Somehow, though…somehow…" 

Grell swallowed and looked away, struggling with his emotions. His vision blurred with tears and he had to look away. He wiped underneath his glasses angrily before the tears could begin to spill down his cheeks. 

"Hey," Undertaker said in a soothing voice, putting an arm around him. "Come here. Don't get yourself worked into a state, now." 

Grell let him wipe his eyes with his sleeve, and he gave him a faltering, broken little smile and sniffed. "I'm being such a girl." 

Undertaker chuckled softly and kissed him on the cheek, giving him a little squeeze. "It's all right to cry, Grell. Now, what was one of the first things you and I established, when we began this together?" 

Grell frowned in confusion. "That I like to bottom?" 

Undertaker laughed aloud at that, and he took a moment to calm down before shaking his head and enlightening him. "That you could talk to me about anything. Right?" He caressed Grell's face with the nails of his free hand, and he smiled encouragingly at him. " _Anything._ " 

"Yes, but this…" Grell hated his own cowardice, and he was starting to feel sick from it. "Please don't be angry." 

"When have I ever been angry with you for anything you've done?" pressed Undertaker. "And you've pulled off quite a few pretty little tricks to test a man's patience, my dear." 

Grell couldn't refrain from smiling a little at that. "Well then, here's another trick for you. I'm pregnant." 

He didn't even give his lover the chance to respond to his announcement. Instead, he began to defend himself in a rush. "I swear to you, I honestly had no idea it could ever happen for me!" 

He didn't consciously take notice of his choice of words, and how he said "for me" rather than "to me". Unbeknownst to poor Grell, Undertaker did notice, and he began to smile. 

"My body doesn't work the way other reapers' bodies do," Grell went on, refusing to look at him. "If it did, perhaps I could have planned our encounters better, or invested in some sort of birth control. The women here get prescriptions for these pills they can take once a week. Maybe that would have worked for me, if I had just known—" 

"Grell…" 

"—That this was possible! Damn that doctor of mine, anyway! He…you know what? He _lied_ to me. We…we should sue! In fact, I'll just ask Will if he knows a good—" 

"Grell, darling…" 

"—Shinigami lawyer. He's _bound_ to know all the stuffiest people. I'm so sorry, Undertaker. I never intended—" 

" _Grell Sutcliff!_ " 

Grell froze at the sound of his name spoken so harshly by that voice, and he stared at him warily. Only Will usually resorted to that tone of voice, with him. Undertaker's expression immediately softened once he had his attention, and he stroked Grell's hair with his free hand and gave him another squeeze. 

"It's all right," said the ancient. He chuckled softly. "My, you can surely chatter, once you get yourself worked up." 

Grell's worried, guilty look didn't fade. "You _did_ hear what I said to you, did you not? I'm expecting a baby; _your_ baby." 

Undertaker kept smiling. "Of course, I heard you. I may have piss-poor eyesight, but my hearing is just dandy." 

Grell swallowed again, searching his face and eyes for any sign that he was hiding something. "But…you're so calm!" 

"Don't be fooled by outward appearances," suggested the ancient. "I'm caught somewhere between hysteria and exuberance, inside. I wouldn't want to upset or excite you though, so I'm keeping it bottled, for now." 

Grell started to smile, feeling so relieved he could just die. It occurred to him that Undertaker was still being far too calm, though, and he considered his earlier suspicions. His smile faded into a frown. "Someone told you. The doctor! He contacted you, didn't he?" 

"No," assured the Undertaker. "He did not. Truth be told, it was your supervisor, Spears. He came to my shop and practically kicked my door in." 

Grell's eyes bugged, and he withdrew a bit from Undertaker's half-embrace. "W-William? He knows?" 

When the older reaper nodded, panic settled in. "Oh…oh my!" Grell put a hand over his heart. "My career…my reputation…ruined!" 

"Grell, settle down," advised Undertaker softly. He put both hands on his shoulders and gave them a squeeze, gazing into his eyes. "You've convinced yourself that you're a monster in Shinigami skin, and that isn't true. William confronted me for _your_ benefit, and he wouldn't have done that if he was repelled by you, would he?" 

Grell stared at him dubiously. "He confronted you?" 

Undertaker nodded and grinned. "He surely did. As I said, he practically kicked down my door. I think the uptight chap would have challenged me to pistols at dawn for your honor, if I hadn't chosen to come here of my own accord. He wasn't at all pleased with me when he found out I got you up the duff." 

"You and your slang," sighed Grell, but now he was grinning. He started to feel a bit light-headed, and he leaned against Undertaker's supporting strength, putting his arms around him. "So Will isn't angry?" 

"With you? I doubt it," answered Undertaker as he stroked Grell's hair. "With me? Most assuredly. That's the first time I've ever seen that fellow demonstrate a measure of testicular fortitude, with me. Seems he's got some bollocks, after all." 

Seeing the dreamy expression on his face, Undertaker cupped his chin and tilted his head back to look into his eyes. "Don't you go swooning over Spear's chivalry. I'm the one that loves you, remember?" 

Grell giggled helplessly, and he caught hold of the hand cupping his chin and nuzzled the palm. "I know that, and I'm just so…relieved that you came, and that you aren't leaving me over this. It's just that I never knew Will cared at all. I was so sure he would have me fired or at least demoted me, if he ever learned the truth." 

"He can't do that just because you're unique," insisted Undertaker. "Spears doesn't strike me as a man to base his staff's value on their physical makeup or even personalities, and that's one thing I can say good about him. Seems to me he thinks you're a good reaper, when you don't stray from your job." 

Grell snuggled against him, pressing his cheek against his chest. "It's hard to tell with him, sometimes." He looked up at him, his anxiety returning. "Who else knows?" 

"Just Spears and myself, as far as I can tell," answered the mortician. "And he vowed not to tell anyone else. It's up to you to decide who else finds out and when, love." 

Grell shut his eyes and sighed. "Good. There's just so much to think about. I can't do field work in this condition, and eventually, people are going to start to notice my belly growing rounder. When the rest of me doesn't put on weight, it's going to be obvious that I'm not just getting fat." 

Undertaker nodded. "You could always tell them you have a massive tapeworm." 

Grell nudged him in the ribs, making him grunt. "That's disgusting, sir, and not at all funny!" 

Undertaker chuckled. "I thought it was rather funny. But in all seriousness, there are plenty of options available to you, my love." 

"Such as?" Grell hoped he wasn't suggesting putting an end to the condition. He was frightened, certainly, but since he had no idea if this could happen to him again, he wasn't willing to give it up. 

"Well, you could talk to Mr. Spears about putting you completely on desk duty, until the baby comes and you've recovered. No reaping." Undertaker ran his nails through Grell's hair as he spoke. "If you're not willing to share the truth with your friends and coworkers, you can go away for a while, once you start to show. You could get a place in the mortal realms, or…you could come and live with me." 

Grell looked up at him sharply at the suggestion. "You're offering for me to come and live with you? In your shop?" 

Undertaker shrugged, and perhaps it was Grell's imagination, but he could have sworn he looked a bit embarrassed. "Well, I'm the father, aren't I? I know human and reaper anatomy, and I plan to study this in depth, so that we can make sure you stay healthy and safe. What better way is there for me to keep an eye on you, than to have you living with me? I know it's no palace. It's not much of a 'home' at all, but we can make some changes in the back to make it more comfortable for you. I might even start charging my customers…money…so I can make some alterations. There's plenty of room on the lot to build onto the shop. I could even put in a second floor." 

Grell listened to him muttering about all the changes he could make to his shop to accommodate him, and he thought his heart would burst with love. The damnable tears started to come again and he hated himself for it. He abruptly pulled away and sniffed, trying to bring his emotions under control. 

"S-stop," he begged. 

Undertaker went silent, and then: "You don't like the idea. Can't say I really blame you. There's the smell from the basement, the comings and goings of clients…not really the ideal place to play house, is it?" 

"It isn't that," Grell said, wiping his eyes. He took his glasses off and he wiped them with the hem of his gown, seeing as he'd gotten tears on them. He put them back on when he thought they were clean enough to see through again, and he looked at the silver reaper with some embarrassment of his own.

 "I don't mean to be so emotional," he sighed. 

Undertaker smiled at him. "Codswallop. You're in a shocking situation and you've probably got hormones pecking at you, too. I know I'm not helping, suggesting you come live in a mortuary. That can't be the sort of future you imagined for yourself." 

Grell sighed. "No. The future I imagined for myself was to become a famous actress and travel the world, but that's really just a silly fantasy." He smiled at him. "Did you really mean all of that, Undy?" 

Undertaker nodded, and he kissed him softly on the mouth. "Completely. I can't offer you a lot of luxury, but I _can_ offer you myself. I want you to take some time to think about it, though. You've got plenty of options and some time to consider them." 

Yes, now that he thought of it, there _were_ a lot of routes he could take. The problem was how he would manage to conceal his condition from his coworkers, when it eventually began to show. If he went away until the child came, what would he do for earnings? He had _some_ money stashed away at the Shinigami Trust, but Grell was a rather compulsive shopper. He now regretted all those outfits and accessories he'd recently purchased. He rarely got the opportunity to wear them, with as busy as his work schedule was. That money could have gone toward a down payment on a bigger apartment, and baby things. 

"I'm terrible at this," he realized with horror. 

Undertaker laughed, prompting the redhead to scowl at him. "Thank you," said Grell acidly. "Your laughter makes me feel _so_ much better." 

"I'm sorry," apologized Undertaker between chuckles, "it's just that I've never met a single mortal or reaper who's actually _good_ at 'this'. Oh, they can try to plan for it, but in the end it's never quite enough. Trust me, Grell Sutcliff; this child could be a lot worse off than it is." 

"I need to learn to budget," sighed Grell, "and I need to put away as much as I can, before I start to get heavy. Oh, bugger…I'll need to hire a specialist to make maternity clothes for me, too!" 

"I'm going to help with all of that," insisted Undertaker. "I can make a pretty penny for my services, when I actually charge for currency. Don't you worry, I'll take up the slack." 

Knowing how much he detested using the coin of the realm, Grell smiled at him. "Am I dreaming?" 

Undertaker pinched his bottom without warning, making him yelp. He grinned and rubbed the spot immediately, winking at him. "Looks like you're awake, love." 

Grell relaxed against him, snuggling deeper into his embrace. "I don't know how to thank you for being so…so…devoted." 

Indeed, this sort of thing _never_ happened for him, before Undertaker became such an important part of his life. His eyes started to water again and he swore softly, burying his face against the other reaper's chest. Undertaker stroked his back slowly and nuzzled his hair. 

"It's going to be all right, my dear. Undy's here for you." He started to snicker softly at the use of his own pet name again, earning an irritated poke of warning from Grell.

 At least he hadn't referred to himself as his "Shaft of Love", this time. 

~***~

-To be continued  


	4. Chapter 4

He walked into the pub quietly, ignoring the curious looks he was getting from patrons as he bellied up to the bar. Some knew who he was right away, while others—mostly the younger ones—saw only a strange man with long silver hair in odd, black clothes and an even odder top hat. Undertaker grinned brightly at the barkeep as he sat down on one of the stools, and he ignored the way the young fellow next to him quietly decided to leave his stool. 

"I'll have a brandy," ordered the silver-haired man. "In fact, make it a double. Neat." 

The bartender nodded, watching him with covert curiosity as he prepared his drink for him. The Undertaker tapped his long, black nails lightly on the wooden surface of the bar, looking around with mild interest as he waited. One patron near the dartboards recognized him, and he sauntered over with a grin. 

"Hey, this one's on me," Ronald said. He stuck his hand out when the silver-haired gentleman looked at him, and he smiled engagingly at him. "The name's Ronald Knox. I'm Grell Sutcliff's protégé. Undertaker, right?" 

The retired reaper shook his hand and offered a toothy grin. "Indeed, I am. He's spoken of you, before." 

"Yeah?" Ronald took a seat on the barstool next to Undertaker's, and he finished off his pint and waved the bartender over for another one. "So what brings you to this side, anyhow? Senpai is always complaining that he can barely get you to set foot outside your shop—let alone come to our realm."

"I made an exception," answered the older reaper. He thanked the bartender when his drink came, and he downed it in four swallows. He grimaced slightly and motioned for another one. "Don't tell me you haven't heard about your tutor's situation." 

"You mean him passing out in the elevator?" Ronald frowned and nodded. "Yeah, I heard. I dropped by to see him earlier, but he was still out. So how did you find out about it?" 

Their drinks came and they both had a sip. "Actually, your superior informed me," answered Undertaker. He held his glass up and studied the play of light in the liquid, smirking. "Confronted me, in fact. I suppose I can't blame him. He holds himself responsible for the well-being of his staff, from what I've observed. Stiff chap, but honorable."

Ronald furrowed his brows. "Er…what did he have to confront _you_ about? It isn't like you knocked Grell out." 

"No, but I knocked him up," muttered the funeral director. 

Ronald gave him a blank look, his nose crinkling slightly in confusion. "Huh?" 

The older reaper glanced sidelong at him through his bangs. "Tsk, I should keep my mouth shut, shouldn't I? Never mind me, boy. I'm just in a bit of shock and my thoughts are running away with me." 

Ronald still watched him with a perplexed expression. "Okay…whatever ya say, old man." 

Undertaker finished his drink and asked for yet another. Seeing how troubled he was and feeling oddly responsible for making sure Grell's boyfriend didn't get himself into trouble, Ronnie hung around to keep an eye on him. 

~***~ 

Eventually, Undertaker decided he'd had enough to drink, and he allowed his young companion to escort him back to the duplex he was boarding at during his stay. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, but Ronald proved to be excellent support. He checked in at the desk downstairs, and Ron helped him up to the second floor, to his room. 

"If your mentor happensh to get releashed before I make it back to see him tomorrow," slurred Undertaker as he fumbled with his keys, "pleashe tell him to contact me. We shtill have things to discush." 

He dropped his keys and he uttered a rare curse as he began to bend over to retrieve them. His hat fell off and his hair fell forward, obscuring his already blurred, double vision further. 

"Here, I've got it," offered Ronald with a snort of amusement. The young man retrieved the fallen headwear and the keys, and he handed the former to Undertaker. He caught his first glimpse of the ancient's face when Undertaker dragged his bangs back from his eyes to locate and collect the hat, and his eyebrows shot up. 

"Damn," muttered Ronald. "I'm not on that side of the fence, but you're one good looking guy underneath all that hair. No wonder Senpai is so crazy about you." 

Undertaker covered his mouth on a hiccup, and he grinned sloppily at the blond. "Now, now, you're a fine looking fellow yourshelf, but I am a one lady man." He stumbled against the wall and braced himself against it, his unfocused eyes glittering under the hair that had fallen back over it. 

Ronald rolled his eyes and grinned. "You're really shit-faced. That wasn't a come-on, it was just a compliment." He unlocked the door and opened it, gesturing for the taller man to go on in. "There ya go. I'd advise you to drink a tall glass of water before you crash. You don't want to be all hungover tomorrow, do you?" 

"Definitely not," sighed Undertaker. He stepped through the threshold and took his keys from Ronald's extended hand. "You're a good lad, Ronnie. Don't you worry none, though. I'll take good care of your mentor and the baby." 

Ron's brows migrated to his hairline once more. "Uh…okay. You should definitely get some rest, Mr. Undertaker." 

The ancient Shinigami nodded with agreement, and he waved blindly in Ronald's general direction, wiggling his fingers. "Toodles, then." 

Ronald managed to keep a straight face until the door was shut, and then he burst into soft snickers of mirth. "Aw man, that guy is just a whole _mountain_ of weird. He's perfect for Sutcliff Senpai!" 

~***~ 

The next morning, Dr. Francis signed Grell's release papers, and he had a talk with him about basic nutrition, prenatal care and things he should avoid doing. He gave him a pregnancy book and when the redhead raised his brows at the obviously female figure on the cover, the doctor shrugged helplessly. 

"I'm sorry Grell, but your situation is so unique, there really is no book specifically for it. It's possible that others like you have given birth in the past, but I don't know where they would keep the records of it." 

Grell sighed and examined the book. "Maybe Undertaker would know." His lover had already demonstrated an expansive knowledge of the Great Library once before, and he never seemed surprised or startled by Grell's physiology or even his recent condition. 

"Perhaps," agreed the doctor. "You have the fortune of having a partner who has been around since the very first of our kind were created." 

"I'm still angry with you," Grell warned peevishly. He took out the mirror and brush that Ronald had brought him, and he began to primp, ever mindful of his appearance. "You shouldn't have told Spears. This was _my_ secret to keep or part with on my own time. Thanks to your meddling, I didn't even get to tell the father of my baby myself!" 

"I'm not sorry for my part in that," said Dr. Francis stubbornly. "I've been your doctor since you were first reborn a reaper, Grell. In my own way, I look on you as a son…or a daughter, as the case may be. If you _were_ my daughter, I would have gone to Undertaker myself. Fortunately my instincts paid off and Mr. Spears resolved that for me. I've a feeling you would have procrastinated until you were too heavy to conceal your condition, if I hadn't 'meddled'." 

Grell huffed and waved a hand. "Spare me the lectures, would you? I'm a frightful mess, and I expect my love to come and see me at any moment. Gods, what is a lady to do without rouge, or lipstick! I'm a sickly pallor!" 

The doctor watched with subtle amusement as Grell put the brush aside to pinch his cheeks for color. "Honestly Grell, I really don't think Mr. Undertaker cares if you're a bit pale, after your ordeal. You need to be careful, though. Your blood pressure is still too low. I want you to increase your salt intake just a little and drink more fluids. I expect you to come back next week for a checkup, and if you suffer any further dizzy spells, make an appointment." 

"Fine," agreed the redhead. He deflated as he placed a slim hand over his abdomen and looked down at it. "Dr. Francis, do you think I'll really be able to bring this child to term?" 

The doctor smiled at him. "I think with the proper care and nutrition, you should have as good a chance as any mother." 

Grell smiled slightly, his sharp teeth glinting. He started to say something else, but his door opened a crack and there was a knock. He and the doctor looked up to see William's handsome face peeking in. 

"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything important," said William. 

"Oh no, I was just giving some parting medical advice," answered Dr. Francis. "Mr. Sutcliff is free to change into his clothes and leave, whenever he's ready." 

William nodded. "Very good. Doctor, if you don't mind I would like to speak with Mr. Sutcliff in private, for a moment." 

"I'm finished anyway," said the doctor amicably. He looked at Grell, who was fussing self-consciously with his hair. "Remember what I told you about salt and fluids. Oh, and you might want to try drinking raw beet juice twice a day. That can help with low blood pressure."

 Grell wrinkled his nose. "Not if I puke it up everywhere, it won't. That sounds revolting." 

"You may be surprised how your tastes may change during this pregnancy." Dr. Francis gave William a little bow, checked the chart in his hand and headed for the door. "I'll see you next week, Grell." 

Grell watched him go with a little sigh, and when they were alone in the room, he looked up at Will with cringing expectation. The supervisor's impassive face hardened slightly. 

"Please remove the 'kicked dog' look from your face, Grell Sutcliff," said William in his cool, polite monotone. "I have not come to fire you, demote you or even lecture you. This wouldn't be the first time an employee under my supervision fell unexpectedly pregnant, you know. These things happen." 

Grell stared at him. "Well…yes, but I'm…that is, I…" He sputtered off helplessly, unable to find the words to describe his confusion and fear. 

Evidently deciding that Grell had nothing important to say, William withdrew a small book from his blazer, and he adjusted his glasses before opening it to a bookmarked page and reading from it. "In compliance with Employee Benefit Policy P-4, you are entitled a desk job for the duration of your pregnancy, as well as paid maternity leave—beginning when your doctor advises that you should take your sabbatical. I will be in contact with Dr. Francis to ensure that you receive the necessary time off for the health of your pregnancy and your recovery. Childcare services are also available as part of the company policy, so you may want to pick up some forms from the Staffing department and go over them at home." 

William looked up from the book. "Are there any questions?" 

"Yes," answered the redhead immediately, his crimson brows furrowed over troubled green-gold eyes. "Will, all of those provisions you listed are for pregnant _women_. I'm not…I mean, I don't fit the criteria, completely." 

William glanced down at the book in his hand again. "There is no mention of gender in these criteria. These benefits are for pregnant employees, and you therefore qualify. I have already prepared the necessary paperwork, and when you return to the office we can go over them and sign them to be sent off. Do you have any further questions, Agent Sutcliff?" 

Grell felt a surge of love for this cold, aloof man. He swallowed and shook his head, fearing he would start crying again. Seemingly satisfied, William turned to leave. He paused at the door with his hand hovering over the knob, and he offered a bit of parting advice. 

"You shouldn't wait to tell people, Sutcliff. Unless you intend to hide away once you start to show and concoct some tale of adopting a baby, they will eventually discover the truth. People aren't likely to believe you adopted anyhow, considering how low Shinigami birth rates are. We simply have no orphans to spare, in our slow-reproducing society." 

Grell shut his eyes, knowing he was right. Shinigami births were uncommon as it was. As a species that never aged, they weren't designed for rapid sexual reproduction, like humans. They would be vastly overpopulated, if they were. The birth rate of their kind was directly tied to the death rate, and "normal" sexed couples could go at it for years before conceiving. 

"What will people say?" he whispered, more to himself than to his companion. "I'm un-natural." 

William half turned. "We are Shinigami, Grell. Human definitions of 'natural' don't apply to us now, nor have they ever. Your peers respect you—despite your often reckless and unprofessional behavior. I think they may surprise you, but the decision is yours. I've done my part." 

More grateful to him than he could ever express, Grell gave him a tremulous smile and watched him go. He heaved a shaken breath when he was alone again, and he looked over at his clothes, folded on the visitor chair. Thankfully the medical staff saw fit to wash them for him while he was resting, so at least they were clean and fresh. Mentally picturing Undertaker's bright, charmingly mad smiles, Grell decided it was past time to get dressed and go. He got out of the bed and he gathered up his clothing, intending to take them into the bathroom and get dressed. It occurred to him that he had no idea where Undertaker was staying while he was on this side, and he frowned. 

"That idiot," sighed Grell. "Leave it to him to forget to mention that little piece of information." 

He didn't have a Shinigami phone, either. If he was still on this side, attempting to phone his shop would be useless, as well. That meant that Grell would have to wait until Undertaker decided to come for a visit, unless he'd left contact information at the front desk. He sighed. There was nothing for it. Right now, he just wanted to get into something more stylish than a hospital gown—something that didn't open in the back to let a draft up his bum. 

The door to his room opened before he made it three steps from his bed, and he turned to see Ronald stroll in. "Don't you know how to knock?" demanded Grell in a huff. "I might have been naked, in here!" 

Ronald stopped, frowned and walked back out, leaving Grell staring after him in confusion. There was a knock, and the young blond stuck his head in with a grin and a wink. "Now can I come in?" 

Grell rolled his eyes. "Yes, Ronnie, you can come in." 

Ronald shut the door behind him as he walked in, and he looked Grell up and down. "Ya look better than you did yesterday. How do you feel?" 

Grell went into the bathroom to change, and he left the door open a crack so that he could talk to his companion. "A bit weak in the knees, but otherwise I'm fine. I'm _more than_ ready to leave this place and get something to eat. Have you had breakfast?" 

"No, that's what I came to see about," answered Ronald. "I heard they were releasing you today, so I thought I'd come by and offer to take you somewhere to eat, if they hadn't already fed you." 

"Thankfully not," sighed Grell. He slipped the gown over his head and he paused to look down at his naked body, running a hand over his flat little tummy. He started to smile with the knowledge that he was growing new life in there. The more he thought about it, the happier he got. "Where did you have in mind?" 

"How about the café at the end of the block?" suggested Ronald. "It's just a short distance from Headquarters. We can go right into the office after we eat, if you're up for it." 

Grell pulled his trousers up and reached for his shirt. "Oh yes, I'm up for it. I'm ready to get back to work. I could use the distraction." 

"Distraction from what?" Ron asked. 

Grell grimaced, and he told a bald-faced lie before he could stop himself. "Oh, it's nothing, really. Undertaker and I got into a little spat when he visited me last night, that's all. I…er…told him it was unfair that I had to be hospitalized for him to come to this realm to see me." 

"Oh, maybe that's why he got drunk, then," Ronald hypothesized. 

Grell frowned with his right arm halfway through his sleeve. "Excuse me?" 

"I was having a drink in my favorite pub after work," answered the blond, "and he came in for one. I was pretty surprised to see him there, so I sat down with him and we knocked back a few. He's totally in love with you, Senpai." 

A delighted smile made its way onto Grell's lips, and he blushed. "Is he, now?" 

"Oh yeah," agreed Ronald. "He kept talking about every little thing he liked about you. Your hair, your dimples when you smile…some other things I don't want to repeat…" 

Grell's brows shot up. "My darling discussed intimate details in a public setting?" 

"Well, I don't think he meant to start rambling like that," excused Ron. "He didn't go that deep into it, but he did make it pretty damned clear he worships your legs and ass. I kind of redirected the subject when he started getting a little too enthusiastic about it. Don't be too hard on him, though. He'd knocked back quite a few drinks, by the time he started talking about your butt." 

Grell couldn't decide if he was flattered or annoyed with his lover, but he knew how Ronald was and he was pretty sure Undertaker didn't just volunteer the information out of the blue. Ronnie likely coaxed it out of him—only to regret it moments later. 

"So your interrogation blew up in your face," reasoned Grell with a smirk. "I keep telling you to be careful what you ask for, Ronnie." 

The blond chuckled. "Ya got me. I wanted to feel him out. I've never seen you so attached to one guy before, so sue me if I want to make sure he's good for you." 

Grell smiled, and he adjusted his suspenders before applying his vest. "And what brilliant conclusion did you come to, my overprotective bratling?" He put his socks on, draped his tie around his collar and stepped out of the bathroom to look at him. 

Ronald shrugged. "Like I said: he's completely in love with you. I think he's good enough for you." 

"You're too kind." Grell chuckled with amusement, touched in spite of himself by Ronald's diligent antics. He began to work his tie into a bow. 

"There's still one thing that bothers me, though," admitted Ronald. "The man is really, really strange." 

Grell snorted and gave him a sidelong look. "I thought we had already established that opinion before now." 

"Well yeah, but last night he was saying some things that were weird even for _him_." 

Grell frowned, and he rolled up his sleeves a bit. "Like what?" 

"Well, first I could have sworn he said he knocked you up, but I blew that off as a misunderstanding. Then I walked him to the little hotel he's staying in, and just before he went into his room, he told me not to worry and promised to take care of you and the baby." 

Ronald scratched his head and gave his elder a lopsided grin. "I dunno, maybe he was just really drunk and confused. Are you planning to adopt a kid together, or something? You'd probably have to pick a human if you are, and it would have to live with Undertaker in the mortal realm. I didn't even think you _liked_ kids, Senpai." 

Grell suddenly felt sick to his stomach, and he wasn't sure if he could blame it on morning sickness or nerves. He swallowed and sighed. "Oh, that reckless…I am going to _kill_ him," he seethed. "Or at least give him a good spanking!"

Ronald grimaced. "Er…no offense, but you spanking the Undertaker is the last thing I want to be thinking about." 

Grell smiled widely, unable to resist taunting him a little. "He likes me to wear a nurse's uniform when I do it." 

Ronald put his hands over his ears dramatically. "No, Senpai…stop!" 

"With red fishnet stockings!" Grell went on, "and he _really_ likes it when I take his temperature while I'm doing it, if you know what I mean." 

"No, I don't! Come on, you're traumatizing me here! La-la-la!" 

Grell laughed heartily at the younger reaper's discomfort, knowing it was half play. "What's the matter, Ronnie? I thought you were interested in all this." 

"Well, you thought wrong! I'm not _that_ interested!" Ronald was laughing too, though. They shared a hearty chuckle, and when it finally died down, the blond sobered and looked at Grell curiously. 

"Really though, what's all this business with a baby about? You didn't exactly give the impression he was just rambling." 

Grell swore, all mirth vanishing quickly. He started to try and formulate some lie to give him, to stall him until he could think of how to tell him the truth. Unfortunately, his stomach chose that moment to start heaving and he ended up making a wild rush for the toilet, instead. Ronald followed him in, bless his heart, and he held Grell's hair back for him while he heaved. Since he hadn't eaten since yesterday, there was nothing in his stomach except bile, and Grell shuddered at the bitter taste of it. 

"Ugh," complained the redhead when it finished. He snatched some toilet paper and wiped his mouth, while Ron filled the cup by the sink with some water and offered it to him. "Thank you, Ronnie." 

"No problem." Ronald squatted down beside him, frowning with concern he couldn't hide. "Is it stress? Is that what made you pass out?" 

Grell shook his head. "If only. Go back into the room and sit down while I rinse my mouth out. I may as well get it over with and tell you." 

"Tell me _what_?" demanded the blond. "You're okay, right?" 

Realizing how cryptic he was being, Grell offered a wan smile and he ruffled the young man's hair affectionately. "Yes, I'm all right. There's just something about me that you need to know, and I think you should be sitting down when you hear it. Don't worry; I don't have some fatal, tragic disease. Just do as I ask and it will all make sense, soon." 

Ronald sighed. "I'm not sure I like where this is heading, but okay. Let me know if you need any help." 

Grell silently appreciated his doting, and he hoped with all his heart that Ronald wouldn't turn away from him in loathing when he discovered the truth. He took comfort in the fact that William hadn't done so, and if Will could accept him as he was, then it stood to reason that his dear Ronald could, as well. 

~***~ 

"So, now you know," Grell finished sometime later. 

Ronald sat in the visitor chair with his left ankle crossed over his right knee. One elbow was propped on the arm of the chair and he was absently pressing the back of his gloved knuckles against his lips as he absorbed everything he'd been told. 

"So…you've got…um…" he looked Grell up and down. 

Grell hopped off the bed and stood up, holding his arms out to the sides. "I'm still me, Ronnie. I've been like this since they raised me as a reaper. This didn't happen overnight." 

"Well, the pregnancy sure did," objected Ronald. He stared Grell up and down again, his eyes settling on his crotch. "I might need some proof." 

Grell's jaw dropped. " _Ronald Knox!_ " 

The blond suddenly grinned. "Gotcha." 

Grell huffed, deflating. "This is a fine time to be making jokes. Didn't you hear me say I'm going to be having a baby? Doesn't that bother you?" 

"Yeah, a little," admitted Ron, "but it's a done deal, right? I look at it this way: I know two other people at work that are expecting a baby also. I'm not freaking out about them, so why should I freak about you?"

Grell sputtered and waved his hands. "B-because of all those things I just told you! I'm going to be the one _having_ the baby."

 

"Yeah, it's weird," agreed Ronald, "but you know what? It actually explains a _lot_ about you, Senpai. I know other really feminine guys but sometimes, I actually think of you as a girl. I thought it was just because you like to be addressed as one sometimes, but maybe I was actually picking up on something without realizing it." 

"How…perceptive of you," Grell said. He was still in shock. "I really didn't expect you to be so cavalier about this." 

Ron shrugged. "Me either. I mean, if I had seen this coming. I wouldn't have expected me to be this cool about it either. It's like you said though; you're still my Senpai and I still think you're the coolest—even if you _are_ a total weirdo." He winked at the last part. 

Grell felt like crying all over again, and he cursed softly and turned away. "Oh, Ronnie. I really can't tell you how much of a relief it is, to hear you say that. You really are a good kid." 

"T'cha, right." Ronald got out of his chair and approached, putting his hands on Grell's shoulders. "You're way too tense. What did ya think I'd do, Grell? You should have told me a long time ago." 

"Well _excuse me,_ " Grell said huskily, "but there was never really a good time to say: _'oh by the way, Ronnie, I happen to have a cunt._ '" 

The blond snorted with laughter. "And if you _had_ said it like that, I probably would have just laughed it off as a joke." He rubbed Grell's shoulders solicitously. "I'm not saying it isn't shocking, but I'm not going to turn my back on my Senpai. You just tell me how I can help, and I'll do it. Is Undertaker gonna help you out with this, or do I need to kick his ass? I'm pretty sure I won't be successful seeing as he's a veteran, but I'll give it a try for you." 

Grell laughed in a shaken manner and shook his head, turning to face the younger reaper. "No Ronnie, there's no need for you or anyone else to kick his ass—or rather, get your ass kicked. Undertaker is being very supportive. I daresay he'll go along with whatever decisions I make, concerning this pregnancy. You said yourself that he told you he would take care of me and the baby, remember?" 

"Yeah, but he was all drunk when he said that," sighed Ronald. "So, what _are_ you going to do about this?" 

"I'm definitely going to keep it," assured Grell. "I just need to decide whether to stay here for the duration, or go and live with Undertaker once I begin to show." 

"I don’t know if that's a great idea," discouraged Ronald with a frown. He rubbed Grell's shoulders again. "I know you love him and yeah, he obviously loves you too, but this isn't exactly a normal pregnancy. Maybe you should stay here, so you can see a Shinigami doctor fast if anything starts going wrong." 

Grell winced inwardly at that sobering thought. "You raise a good point, but Undertaker does know anatomy inside and out. He could be a doctor himself, if he truly wanted to. Living with him, I would have a medical professional with me at all times." 

"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Ronald, "but this still isn't normal. He might have the knowledge, but he doesn't have the equipment, know what I mean? He embalms corpses and does autopsies for a living. He's probably not going to have a lot of instruments lying around to take care of living patients." 

"Hmm, you're right," sighed Grell. It was humbling, to be out-thought by a young man who practically lived to party at the end of each day. "I suppose he and I will have to talk about that. He's just been so sweet, Ronnie…you know he hates charging money for his services, beyond what he needs to keep himself fed and his business going. He's willing to wave his usual fee in exchange for currency, for my sake." 

"That's…uh…sweet," Ronald said diplomatically. "Just put your safety first, okay? I don't want to see anything happen to you." 

"I know you don't." Grell smiled at him. "I just need to think about the way this will impact my child's future, if I stay here. People will start asking questions as my condition becomes obvious, and not everyone is going to be as accepting and supportive as you and Will. I don't even care anymore if people know I'm androgynous, but my baby…" 

Grell looked down at his stomach and sighed, laying both hands protectively over his abdomen. "I've always done my best to dislike children and tell myself that I don't truly envy women their ability to bear them. Now all I can think of is how people will treat this child, knowing that the one who birthed it is a freak." 

"Hey, don't call yourself that," objected Ronald seriously. 

Grell sighed. "That _is_ how a lot of people see me, when they learn the truth. You, Undertaker and Will are the only people so far to learn the truth without shunning me or…or using me. I would love to live in a world where I can stand up before my peers and announce my mixed gender with pride, but no matter how civil our kind might be, they would still judge me. Don't try to pretend otherwise, Ronnie. It isn't worth the disappointment." 

Ronald frowned, lowering his gaze. "When you put it that way, I guess I can see why you're thinking of taking time off and staying with Undertaker." 

Grell nodded. "In the human world, I can dress as a lady and no-one will be the wiser. I can't do that here in our realm. Too many people know my face and would recognize me. In the mortal realm, I can keep up the masquerade until the baby comes, and then I can look into returning home and resuming work. The good news is that Will has the paperwork for paid maternity leave ready for me to sign, so Undertaker really won't need to change his fee to take care of me, after all." 

"Uh…there's one problem with that, Senpai." 

Grell frowned. "Oh? What?" 

"If Spears Senpai hands in that paperwork with your name on it, the department heads are gonna want some answers. Your secret's going to be out." 

Grell swore, and he felt sick to his stomach again. "Oh, bloody _hell_! I didn't even consider that!" 

"He hasn't turned in the paperwork yet, has he?" Ronald looked faintly alarmed. 

"No." Grell shook his head, willing himself to calm down. A lock of crimson hair dropped over his eye and he brushed it away. "I'll just have to tell him to forget it, I suppose. I really don't want my situation going any further than it has, if I can help it." 

"Let's go get something to eat, and you can talk to him about it," urged Ronald. 

Grell put a hand over his stomach again and he grimaced. "I'm not sure I feel like eating anything, right now." 

Ronald clucked his tongue. "You've got to eat _something_ , even if it's just a slice of toast. You're eating for two now, remember?" 

"You're going to become a mother hen, aren't you?" Grell eyed him with annoyance. 

The blond grinned and shrugged. "I've gotta look out for my Senpai. Now let's get your things, stop by to pick up your hungover boyfriend and get something to eat." 

~***~ 

Undertaker groaned softly when the sound of someone knocking on his door awoke him from his heavy sleep. He rolled over, expecting to press up against the familiar walls of his coffin—only to fall off of his bed and land on the floor with an oath. Briefly mystified and in significant discomfort, the ancient reaper lifted his head from the hardwood floor and tried to look around. All he could see was a curtain of white, and he realized that his hair was completely covering his face. Mumbling thickly, he dragged it aside and peered around. 

"Oh, right," he muttered. He wasn't in his shop. He wasn't even in the mortal realm; he was in the middle plane. 

And Grell was pregnant with his child.  

 Thinking about it made him grin, despite the pain in his head. Fatherhood was really nothing he'd ever considered doing before—not even with reapers he'd loved in the past. He'd been with as many males as females and the one woman he would have considered attempting reproduction with left him when she couldn't convince him to return to work. She claimed he was making her choose between her career and him—which was bollocks, but he just took it as a sign that she was looking for a way out. 

With Grell, it was different. He identified with the redhead in ways he never could with previous lovers, and Grell accepted him as he was—eccentricities and all. Though he was still reeling from the news, he was happier about it than he was upset, and he hoped Grell felt the same. 

The knocking continued, and Undertaker scrambled to his feet with difficulty, finding his equilibrium more than a tad off. "Just a moment," he called out, and he winced at the volume of his own voice. He dragged his hair back over his shoulders and he looked around for his hat. Recognizing the blurred figure of it on the floor, he picked it up, brushed it off and crammed it onto his head. The knocking resumed and he groaned, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. 

"Just a bloody moment, you impatient twits!" 

He walked across the room to the door and he started to open it, only to realize that he'd neglected to undo the chain lock. Grumbling under his breath, he slid the chain off and pulled the door open. His scowl turned into a smile of delight immediately when he found his lover on the other side, standing beside Ronald Knox. 

"I'm a twit?" Grell said with a raised brow. 

"I thought you were the maid," excused Undertaker. He stepped aside and gestured as cordially as he could, with his balance impaired. "Come right in, my dear. You too, Mr. Knox." 

Grell sniffed at him and he wrinkled his nose. "Darling, don't take this the wrong way, but you could definitely use a shower—right _now_. You smell like a bottle of stale brandy." 

Undertaker didn't take offense. He sniffed his arm self-consciously and gave the redhead a sheepish grin. "I might have had one too many last night, lovely. I'll get tidied up in a moment. How are you feeling?" 

"Just a little peckish," answered Grell. "We're on our way to have breakfast, before we go into work for the day. We're late as it is, so please hurry it up. I'd like you to join us." 

Undertaker leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. Recognizing the stance as a reminder that he would only be pushed around so much, Grell sweetened his response with a dimpled, sharp little smile. 

"Please? For me?" He batted his eyelashes at him.   

Undertaker sighed. "The things I put up with for love, eh?" He started to give him a kiss, but he thought better of it when he considered how his breath must smell. "Please make yourselves comfortable, while I get cleaned up. I'll try not to keep you waiting too long." 

~***~

Ronald decided to go on ahead to the café and get them a table while Grell waited for Undertaker. Incidentally, this afforded the chance for Grell to have a word in private with his lover, and he smiled up at him when Undertaker stepped out in a fresh set of garments. His hair was still damp, which gave Grell pause. 

"There isn't a blow dryer in there for you to use?" he asked with a nod at the bathroom. 

Undertaker dried his ears and shrugged. "If you're talking about that noisy air maker in there, I don't much care for it." 

Grell kept forgetting that Undertaker wasn't used to all the latest technology in the Shinigami realm. He shrugged and got out of the rocking chair he was sitting in, admiring the way the light shining in from the window highlighted his damp hair. "I've been thinking about it," he said softly, "and I think I would like to try living with you, once I begin to show." 

Undertaker smiled broadly at him, and he draped his towel around his shoulders to settle his hands on his waist. "You're sure? There's plenty of time to think it over, love. I wouldn't want you to make a hasty decision and get my hopes up." 

Grell found his words encouraging. "You really do want me to live with you, don't you?" 

Undertaker nodded. "Wasn't a hard decision to make, really. As much as I enjoy spending time with the dead, your company is much more rewarding." He embraced him and rubbed his back slowly. 

Grell chuckled. "How flattering. Don't make room for me just yet, though. I intend to stay here and keep working for as long as I can, before it becomes necessary for me to leave." 

Undertaker lowered his gaze and nodded. 

"You…aren't upset about that, are you?" Grell searched his face, trying to read his expression. It was difficult with his drying bangs covering half his face, but he sensed he wasn't entirely happy, as his smile had faltered. 

"Nothing to be upset about," answered the mortician. 

"Then why are you pouting?" 

Undertaker seemed a bit startled by the observation. "Pouting? Me? Hogwash." 

Grell reached up and caressed his beloved, scarred face. "You are. Just because you aren't as blatant about it as other people doesn't mean I don't notice it. Tell me what's the matter. I'm in no mood to play guessing games, my love." 

"Oh, all right," sighed Undertaker in defeat. "But don't get your knickers in a twist when I say this, all right?" 

Grell regarded him warily. "That depends on what you say." 

"Troublesome thing," muttered the ancient. "Very well. I'm uncomfortable with the thought of you going back to work in this condition. I won't try to stop you, mind, but—" 

"Oh, I might have known," Grell said, stepping out of his embrace with an air of indignity. "Why, you archaic old fossil! Things have changed since your day, and if an expecting mother wants to keep working—" 

"You didn't let me finish," interrupted the mortician with a pained grimace, "and your voice is a bit shrill, my dear." 

Grell compressed his lips, inadvertently piercing the inside of them with his teeth and drawing a little blood. "Go on, then. Tell me how it's not a mother's place to work when she's expecting. Go ahead! Tell me my place is in the home now!" 

Undertaker rubbed his temples. "Dear gods, I wish I were one of my clients, right about now." 

Grell's jaw dropped. "You'd rather be _dead_ than discuss this with me?" 

"It's rather difficult to discuss it with you when you won't stop yelling at me," muttered the taller man. "Now would you please shut that delectable mouth and hear what I have to say to you, or shall I gag you and tie you up?" 

The thought of being forcibly detained and gagged had an unreasonably strong and sudden effect on Grell's libido, and he remembered his joking remark to Ronald about spanking Undertaker. Grell blushed and looked up at him with lust he couldn't disguise. 

"I think you may need to tie me up, dear." 

Undertaker laughed at that, even though it made him wince. He pulled Grell tightly against him, turned him around and pinned him against the wall with his body. Grell cried out in delight at the intimate, forceful contact and he sighed as Undertaker lowered his mouth to his ear and spoke into it. 

"Now, as I was saying," purred the ancient, "it's not my right to tell you what to do unless you request it, but I won't pretend to like the thought of you going back to work until we have a better understanding of your specific needs. We can't treat this like a common pregnancy, love. You've already been hospitalized once for passing out. I'd say work until the little nipper comes out if you like, but I don't want you putting undue strain on yourself." 

Grell's umbrage softened quickly with the explanation, and he relaxed against Undertaker's body. He traced the scar encircling the ancient's throat with a fingernail, and he sighed. "Forgive me. I know I can be so difficult to live with, at times. Are you _sure_ you really want this moving in with you?" 

Undertaker grinned. "I wouldn't offer, if I didn't. The sooner, the better, but I won't rush you." 

Grell nodded. "You're being so patient. I've already spoken to Will about it, and he's arranged for me to work strictly behind the desk from now on, until the baby is born and I'm ready to return to reaping. He offered maternity leave to me as well, but I can't really take it without word getting out about my androgyny and my pregnancy. I think I'd rather save what money I can now and find some way to fabricate an adoption story when our baby is born." 

"I understand, love," Undertaker murmured. "Only thing I have against that is having this child growing up thinking we aren't his or her real parents." 

Grell winced. "I hadn't even considered that. Damn it, there's just no winning! If I take William's offer and everyone finds out the truth, the baby and I could face ridicule! If I hide it from everyone, you and I don't get to claim parentage of our own child!" 

"We can work something out," soothed Undertaker. He kissed Grell's frowning lips and he gently licked away the blood on them from the accidental biting. "Don't get yourself into a state. Do you remember me telling you that you aren't the only reaper ever to have been created with hermaphroditism?" 

"Yes, but I've never met any like me," grumbled the redhead. 

"Nor would you be likely to, if there are any alive today besides yourself," reasoned Undertaker. "They're likely in hiding, just like you. They _do_ exist, though, or at least, they have." 

"And what do you suppose happened to the ones created before me?" Grell looked up at him unhappily. "I'll tell you the most likely answer; they killed themselves." 

"That's not going to happen with you," Undertaker said firmly, "so put that thought so far out of your mind that it's no more than a dot on the horizon. You're a bright young reaper with countless centuries ahead of him, a baby on the way and a partner that loves you. Granted, I can be a dodgy old bloke on my best days, but I'll give you everything I've got." 

"You really need to stop being so blasted romantic," sighed Grell, smiling at him. "How can I feel sorry for myself, with such a dashing man proclaiming such love and devotion for me?" 

"And he's your 'shaft of love', too," reminded Undertaker with a grin.

Grell sighed and rested his forehead against the taller reaper's chest, shaking his head. "So close. So close to perfection you were, that time." 

Undertaker chuckled and nuzzled his hair. "You know I can't help it, lovely." 

~***~ 

Undertaker wasn't really surprised to find out that Ronald knew the truth. He liked the peppy young fellow, and he secretly approved of how protective he seemed to be of his mentor. They both had to coax Grell to eat when they went to the café, and by some miracle, the redhead managed to hold it all down. Poor Grell did look rather green by the end of the meal though, and Undertaker nearly suggested he skip out on returning to work for the day. Knowing how volatile Grell was right now, Undertaker wisely kept his opinion to himself. 

It was with great reluctance that he parted with his lover after breakfast. He truly didn't want to stay in this realm for longer than he had to, and he did have a business to get back to. He fully intended to support Grell to the best of his abilities while he was out of work, even if he decided to take the maternity leave deal offered to him by William. 

"I expect to hear from you every day," Undertaker insisted as he embraced Grell outside the café. "Come stay with me on the weekends, too." 

"Of course," agreed the redhead. "Don't worry so much. I'll be just fine." 

Undertaker sighed and nuzzled his cheek. He looked over at Ronald, who stood politely silent a few feet away. "You'll take care of him, right? Make sure he eats and gets plenty of rest?" 

Ronald gave a little salute and a grin. "Absolutely." 

Their exchange annoyed Grell, and he demonstrated as much with a smack on Undertaker's ass. "Hey, I'm not broken! I'm still a reaper." 

Undertaker grinned at him and bent over to whisper into his ear. "Just do as the doc advises and take care of yourself, love. I'll let you spank me as much as you like this weekend, if you'll do that much for me." 

Grell sucked in a sharp breath, and he gave Undertaker's bottom a quick squeeze. "Careful now, my libido is even higher than usual, lately. I may break _you_ this weekend." 

Undertaker chuckled in delight. "I look forward to it, my dear." 

He reluctantly pulled out of the smaller man's embrace, forcing a bright smile for his benefit. "I'd best gather my things and go, before they charge me for another day. Until the weekend, then." 

Grell nodded. "Until the weekend." 

~***~ 

"I don't get it," Ronald admitted as he and Grell walked away from the café together. 

"What don't you get, Ronnie?" Grell took another sip of the ginger water he'd brought out with him, finding it soothing on his stomach. 

"Well, if you two are so crazy for each other, why doesn't he just take one for the team and move in with you at your place?" 

"Because he doesn't like this realm," explained Grell. "I've told you that. He suffers anxiety when he comes here, and I'm done with trying to guilt him into changing his mind." 

"So you'll go and live with him in that backwater mortal dimension?" Ronald sighed. "It doesn't seem right, to me. The human realm is full of diseases and filth." 

"It isn't as bad as it used to be," Grell said with a smirk. "Trust me on that. They've even begun to develop automobiles. Soon they'll have cars roaming the streets instead of carriages, and they're getting better at controlling the spread of diseases, too." 

"Wow." 

Grell stopped and gave him a questioning look. "What?" 

"I've just never seen you make excuses for the human world before." Ronald grinned at him. "I guess that's my proof that you really do love this guy, to live in a dump like that to make him more comfortable." 

Grell chuckled and he punched him lightly on the arm. "I'll have you know that Undertaker's shop can be very cozy. Don't try to pretend there aren't some aspects of the human realm you like, yourself." 

"Those aspects are usually of the female kind," excused Ronald, "with really nice boobs that get pushed up and smushed together in those corsets they wear— _ouch_!" Ronald winced at the poke Grell gave him, and he dodged another one. "Hey, you're always saying Will shouldn't hit you over the head with his scythe! Abusive!" 

"Will wouldn't dare strike a pregnant lady," Grell said with a grin. "Oh Ronald…we are going to have _so_ much fun, now that I think of that." 

Ronald stopped dancing away from him, and he blinked. "Oh, I don't know if you should be joking around like that, Senpai. He's pulling some strings for you, after all. Maybe you shouldn't pick on him." 

Grell pouted. "When did you become a party-pooper?" 

"When I started looking out for my pregnant mentor," answered the blond without missing a beat. "Save the teasing until after you've done all the paperwork, at least. You know kindness doesn't come easy to Spears Senpai." 

Grell sighed. "Yes, I know it all too well. I suppose it wouldn't be right of me to tease him, after what he's doing for me." 

"You can still pick on me, if ya want." 

Grell smirked at him. "It isn't as much fun to pick on the willing, though." 

"So take me by surprise," challenged Ronald, He walked backwards as he spoke, facing Grell. "I'm kind of easy to prank." He ran into a man coming from the opposite direction and he winced when he looked up at the significantly taller, heavier reaper. 

"Uh, sorry about that,' Ron apologized. 

The other reaper—a powerfully built man with shoulder-length black hair tied back into a ponytail—glared at him. "Watch where the hell you're going, kid." 

He gave Ronald a shove that nearly sent him stumbling into the street, and Ronald shook his head and grabbed Grell by the arm when it looked like the redhead might challenge him for his rudeness. 

"Don't sweat it, Senpai," urged Ronald with a glance at the big man—who was apparently satisfied with his shove and was continuing on down the sidewalk. "He might be a dick, but I did run into him and the last thing _you_ need to be doing right now is getting into a confrontation with a big ape like that." 

Grell glared after the retreating stranger, guessing he was a civilian by his casual clothing. "Oh, how I'd love to teach the big oaf a lesson in manners, but you're right." He placed a hand over his abdomen impulsively. "I can't risk…" 

Grell trailed off and stopped, taking a deep, slow breath. 

"Senpai?" Ronald put a hand on his shoulder, looking openly concerned. 

Grell leaned against the telephone pole for support, breathing deeply. The dizziness cleared up after a moment, and he waved Ronald away. "I'm fine," he insisted. "I just felt a bit light-headed, for a minute." 

"Maybe we should take you back to the hospital," suggested Ronald uncertainly. 

"No." Grell shook his head. "Dr. Francis said dizzy spells were likely to happen randomly, for a while. My body just needs to adjust to its condition." 

"Well, okay," Ronald said reluctantly, "but if you pass out again, you're going back. I don't care if I have to sling you over my shoulder and carry you myself." 

"Fair enough," agreed Grell. 

~***~ 

He nearly got run over by an automobile while trying to cross the street. He wasn't familiar with the concept of crosswalks, and he felt a bit foolish when he saw other pedestrians using the white lines in the street to cross to the other side. So much had changed in this realm since the last time he spent any significant time here. The buildings were taller, there were colored lights hanging from wires over the streets, and the structures as a whole had an alien feel to them. Some places like the Great Library and the London Division Headquarters retained their classic structure, but the newer buildings had a very clinical, cold look to them. 

He didn't like it. He didn't like the artificial feel of everything in this place, and he didn't like the cars or the noise or the urgency in everyone's steps. There really wasn't that much traffic; most Shinigami seemed content to walk. Undertaker supposed the vehicles were there to traverse longer distances. Rooftop hopping was easy for any reaper, but all of the wires stretching between poles and buildings made it seem like it would be a bit hazardous to try. 

He made it back to the duplex and he retrieved what few belongings he had brought with him, before checking out. He was thinking of how nice it would be to return to the mortal realm and his shop, when he saw a young woman walk past with a phone to her ear. He considered her as she walked by, and it occurred to him that he could keep in touch with Grell much easier if he were to procure a portable aether phone for himself. Yes, the phone in his shop had the capability of dialing out to the Shinigami plane, but with Grell being in a delicate condition, he would feel much better if he had one of the modern portable phones that he could use any time, anywhere. 

Instead of opening a portal to return home right away, Undertaker decided to seek out a telephone shop. 

~***~ 

-To be continued      


	5. Chapter 5

**_Author's note:_** _Special thanks to The Black Flame for coming up with the limerick._   


~***~ 

Late the next day, Undertaker was preparing a coffin for a new resident, when he felt a curious buzzing in his pocket. He stopped and stood up straight rather abruptly, startled. "That's interesting." 

He patted his robes and when he put his hand over the pocket, he felt the lump inside and he remembered that he'd purchased a new, Shinigami-made portable phone before leaving the realm. He dug the device out of his pocket and he nearly dropped it in his effort to open it up and look at the screen. Grell's name showed up. Undertaker smiled, and he pressed the "call" button. When the phone kept buzzing, he realized he'd made a mistake and he tried to remember exactly which key he was supposed to press to answer the thing. 

"Bugger," snapped the mortician. It kept buzzing merrily away. He pressed the green button, and he brought the phone to his ear. "Hello? Hello! Ah, blast it!" 

Grell had hung up. He very nearly threw the phone through the window in a fit of frustration, but he controlled his temper with the mental reminder that his funds were limited, and the exchange from legal tender of the mortal realm to Shinigami credits was poor. English currency was only worth half as much as Shinigami credits. The cost of the aether phone was greater than the cost of plumbing and electricity for two months in London. 

Uncommonly frustrated, the ancient went to his desk and he put the Shinigami-made phone down. "We aren't finished, you and I," he promised the thing. 

Giving up on it, he turned his attention to the seemingly normal rotary phone on his desk, and he waved a hand over it to transform the dial into a keypad. He picked it up off the cradle and put it to his ear as he dialed Grell's number. It rang twice before the other reaper picked up. 

"Hello, love," Undertaker greeted, smiling at the sound of his voice. 

"I just tried to call you," Grell said in an almost accusing tone. 

"I know," sighed the mortician, shooting another resentful look at the Shinigami phone. "I tried to answer it in time, but the new bell is being disagreeable. By the time I remembered how to answer a call on it, you'd hung up." 

Grell snorted. "You managed to work out how to enter my number in your contacts list, but you couldn't figure out how to answer the thing when I called?" 

Undertaker's face heated with embarrassment, and he was glad his lover couldn't see him right now. There wasn't much that could make him blush, but every once in a while things still snuck up on him and triggered his numbed sense of mortification. "You had to talk me through it," he reminded, "and this was the first time anyone's tried to buzz me on the thing." 

"Mm-hmm," answered Grell dryly. "Well, I'll help you through it when I visit this weekend, if you still haven't worked it out." 

"Oh, I'm sure I'll have it figured out by then," insisted Undertaker, "but I appreciate the offer. How are you feeling today?" 

"Tired," admitted Grell. "I think half of it is boredom, though. I'm used to doing paperwork, but to do _nothing_ but paperwork all day long is like watching clothing dry on the line! I don't know how Will retrains his sanity!" 

"Especially with employees like you pushing his buttons all the time," guessed Undertaker with a smirk. 

"I've been good about that," said Grell. "I could have teased him at lunch today, but I refrained on the account of the strings he's been pulling for my benefit." 

Undertaker nodded, even though his lover couldn't see it. "And have you decided what you want to do about that?" 

Grell sighed. "No. If it were only about me…well, I suppose I wouldn't need those benefits at all, would I? I need more time to decide. I've spoken with him about it and he understands, so there isn't any immediate rush." 

Undertaker wasn't particularly concerned. He could make enough to support Grell until the baby came, if the redhead chose not to take his superior's maternity pay offer. "Yes, you've got time to think it over," he agreed. "Just don't shelf it for _too_ long, lovely. You might find yourself in a pinch for time, if you do." 

"I know," answered Grell. He made a peculiar sound between a burp and a cough. "Ugh, this drink is just _terrible_! Dr. Francis is torturing me, I just know it!" 

Undertaker covered the mouthpiece of the phone to conceal the snicker that arose. "So you're drinking the beetroot juice, then?" 

"Yes, damn it. I drink two cups per day as advised: one after I vomit in the morning, and one between lunch and dinner. It seems to be the only two times a day I can keep it down." 

"It's for the best, lovely," encouraged Undertaker. "For you and the little one." 

"That doesn't mean I have to enjoy it," muttered Grell. 

Undertaker smiled. "I wouldn't either." 

"Then you drink it too." 

Undertaker's brows went up. "Eh?" 

"Don't play hard of hearing." There was a smirk in Grell's tone. "If you really sympathize with me, you'll drink beetroot juice every day, too. It's only fair, you know. You're the one that did this to me." 

Undertaker chuckled with amusement. "So that's the way of it, then? I get the blame every time you need to do something unpleasant for this pregnancy?" 

"No, you get to share," answered Grell. "You can't share the condition, but you can share some of the misery with me. Now go and get some beetroot from the market, squeeze the juice from it and drink up." 

Undertaker's low chuckles turned into laughter. "Do you think other men would do that for their wives, love?" 

"I don't care what other men do and we aren't married," Grell huffed. "Do I need to withhold sex from you?" 

That only made Undertaker laugh harder. "You? Withhold…why, that's the funniest thing I've heard all day! Ah, my sides ache! My dear, beautiful Grell, we both know that's a hollow threat." 

"It is _not_ ," insisted the redhead. "I swear, Undertaker, if you keep laughing at me, I'll do it! There won't be any sexual contact between us for a month, if you keep it up!" 

Undertaker slapped his knee. "A month, you say? That's a long time to go without your 'shaft of love'." 

"You ass." 

Undertaker bit back his laughter and forced himself to sober up. Grell sounded like he was really getting upset, and that wasn't good for him. "I'm only teasing, my love. If my drinking beetroot juice will make you happy, then that's what I'll do." 

"It's too late for that," griped the redhead. "You've already brassed me off. No sex for a month! Good _bye_!" 

Undertaker parted his lips to try and salvage the situation, but Grell hung up on him. He pulled the phone away from his ear with a frown, and then he sighed and replaced it on the cradle. 

"Hormones," he murmured. "This pregnancy could be the thing that finally ends me." 

And for once, he wasn't just speaking with figurative humor. 

~***~ 

"What's the trouble, bubble?" 

Grell looked up from the paperwork, with his fingers still threaded through his hair and his palms still pressing against his temples. "Pardon?" 

Ronald grinned and took his customary seat on the edge of the desk. "It's a way of asking what's the matter. I don't think you even heard me come in." He withdrew his record book from his blazer and set it down on the desk. "I'm all done for the day." 

Grell sighed, looking down at the book. "Unfortunately, I can't say the same." 

Ronald grimaced, and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure the door was shut before leaning over to speak in a low voice. "Is the kid giving you trouble, Senpai?" 

Grell reactively placed a hand flat over his abdomen. "No. The baby is fine. It's the father that's causing me grief." 

Ronald's expression hardened a little. "What did he do?" 

"He laughed at me." 

Ron blinked at him. "He laughed at you?" 

"Yes!" 

Ronald cleared his throat and took his glasses off to wipe the lenses with the cloth he kept in his pocket. "So Undertaker—the king of sick humor and spontaneous giggle fits—laughed at you?" When Grell nodded and looked away, he put his glasses back on and he shrugged. "He laughs at _everyone_. Hell, I'm convinced he laughs when he pees. So what? You should be used to that after dating him for this long." 

Grell compressed his lips. "He laughed when I threatened to withhold sex." 

Ronald's brows went up again. "Oh. No wonder you're upset. Wow, that's like a slap in the face." 

"It is!" Grell stood up and he began to pace the room. "How _dare_ he insinuate that I can't control my urges!" 

"Huh?" Ronald scratched his head. "I thought he was implying you weren't good enough in bed for him to care." 

Grell turned away from the window and gave him an exasperated look. "Oh Ronnie, _please_. That isn't even logical." Grell sighed and he fidgeted with his bowtie as he looked out the window again. "No, he was laughing at the thought of me being able to abstain long enough to punish him. I'm not some…some sex addict!" 

Ronald started to chuckle behind his hand. "Ahem, sorry," he apologized when Grell turned and pouted at him. "It's just…okay, I really don't want to picture the two of you together, but he's got a decent point. You're a notorious flirt, and you've made sure to let me know how passionate you are together." 

"I can withhold sex if I want to!" 

Ronald jumped a little at the dramatic exclamation. "Uh, sure! I just meant that maybe you shouldn't be so hard on him for teasing you. Why were you threatening to withhold sex from him anyway?" 

Grell shrugged. "To make him drink beetroot juice." 

Ronald made a face. "Huh?" 

Grell huffed in annoyance and put his hands on his hips. "I have to drink two glasses of the stuff each day, by my doctor's orders! It's revolting to me, but I'm going to do it. Why shouldn't Undertaker do it to?" 

"Uh, because his doctor didn't tell him he had to?" Ronald grinned. "Are you seriously telling me this is all because you wanted him to drink beetroot juice and he refused?" 

"Well, no," admitted Grell, biting his lower lip briefly. "He _did_ actually agree to do it—quite sweetly, now that I think of it— _after_ he laughed at me for threatening to withhold sex from him. I hung up on him, after that." 

Ronald got off the desk and walked over to him. "So let me get this straight. You tried to blackmail him into drinking beetroot juice and it backfired on you, but then he agreed to do it anyway and so you decided to hang up on him?" 

Grell's cheeks began to pinken with embarrassment. "Er…yes. That's roughly what happened." 

It was Ron's turn for an exasperated look. "Senpai, I'm the resident party boy and even _I_ think that's pretty childish of you."   

"Now that you've repeated it to me," Grell said, "It _does_ sound rather silly. It just seemed so important at the time, but now I…" He shook his head and he started to laugh. Ronald joined him after a moment, and Grell went back to his desk to sit down again. 

"My poor, silver darling," mused Grell when he caught his breath. "I really don't know how he puts up with me." 

"Me neither." 

Grell glared up at the blond, who had half-sat on the edge of his desk again. Ronald smirked at him. "Undertaker's either one of the most patient guys I've ever heard of, or he loves you that much he just doesn't care about the abuse you heap on him." 

"Hey, he heaps abuse on me too," protested Grell. "He keeps calling himself my 'shaft of love', just because I used the term once in the heat of passion!" 

Ronald sputtered with laughter. "Oh my god, _really_?" 

"Yes! It's so inappropriate," ranted Grell. "It always ruins sincere moments, and he just won't let it go!" 

"No, I mean you _really_ called his stuff a 'shaft of love'?" Ronald bit both of his lips in an obvious effort to hold back laughter. 

"I was in the moment!" defended Grell. 

"Oh, man," snickered Ronald, losing the battle to contain his mirth. "I can't blame him, Senpai! That's so funny!" 

"Do I need to punish you, too?" Grell glowered at the younger reaper. 

"How, by withholding sex?" Ronald laughed even harder. 

Grell narrowed his eyes at him. "By reporting you for inappropriate lewdness in the office, that's how." 

"Why? You brought it up." Ronald's laughter began to settle, and he wiped his eyes beneath his glasses. "Come on, you're being such a girl about this." 

Grell shot him an ironic look, and Ronald sighed. "You know what I mean. You _are_ a girl...and a guy. Keep that in mind before you go slamming the male gender for being insensitive." 

Grell smirked. At least Ronnie accepted him and aside from the odd uncomfortable moment, he still treated him the same, more or less. He was a bit more protective of him now than he was before, but Grell didn't mind that. "I guess that's fair enough. I don't have time to debate the comedic value of pillow talk with you though, Ronnie. I need to finish this paperwork so I can go home and rest. I'm beginning to feel unwell." 

Ronald looked at him with concern. "You're not feeling faint again, are you?" 

"Not really," answered Grell. "Just weak and a little stuffy in the head. I might be suffering the onset of spring allergies." 

"Hmm." Ronald took a seat in one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk, and he gestured at the paperwork. "Slide some of that my way then, Senpai. I'll help you finish up." 

"Don't you have a party to get to this evening?" Grell smiled crookedly at him, looking up from said paperwork to peer over the top of the frames of his glasses at him. 

Ronald shrugged. "The party never really starts until _I_ get there. I can afford to be a little late. Besides, there's no faster way to a promotion than to suck up to my superiors." He winked at him. "So let's get this done!" 

Grell almost tried to shoo him away again, but he really wasn't feeling well and what he really wanted was a nice, long soak, followed by some peppermint tea and a soft bed. "Thank you, Ronnie." 

~***~ 

The next morning, Undertaker got a delivery from the Shinigami postal service. The surprise was stamped plain on his face as the sharp-dressed woman with blond curls and glasses walked into his shop, carrying a heart-shaped box and a card. 

"These are for you, Mr. Undertaker," she said as he arose from the coffin he was engraving. 

"Are you sure you've got the right address, love?" 

The young Shinigami woman looked at the card, and she nodded. "Absolutely, Sir. It's from Officer Sutcliff of the Dispatch division. His instructions were very specific." 

Undertaker began to smile slowly. "Were they, now? Set it over there on my desk, if you please." 

"As you please, sir." She carried the items over to the desk as directed, set them down and brought her tablet over for him to sign. "Right here on the dotted line, please." 

He took her pen and signed the slip of paper. "There you are." 

"Thank you," she answered. "Have a good day, Mr. Undertaker." 

He watched her go and he stroked his chin. When the door shut behind her, he voiced his opinion. "Lovely girl, but she has no personality at all." 

He walked over to his desk to see what Grell had sent him. He half expected it to explode as he gingerly opened the envelope and took the note out to read it. 

"I've written you this limerick, Dear Undy, because I know you love them so. I am so sorry my sweet Legendary Death God, for my hormonal ways. I'm having your baby, so maybe, you'll forgive my little tantrums. I send you this gift, so say, my love, that you forgive me." _  
_

Undertaker pressed two fingers against his grinning lips, and he began to laugh softly. His laughter increased by the moment, and he soon had to plant a hand against the surface of the desk to avoid toppling over. He put the note back down and once the laughter faded to a medium roar, he had a better look at the box of sweets. He opened it to find an assortment of chocolates. Usually, he was the one making courtship overtures like this. Grell wasn't much for sweets; he said they might go to his hips if he indulged too much...but he still enjoyed getting the odd box of chocolates as a gesture each week. He usually ended up bringing it with him during his weekend visits to share with him—or feed it all to him by hand, little by little. 

Undertaker chose a random piece and he held it up with a smile, thinking of the way Grell liked to sit on top of him and feed him bits like this. He brought the morsel to his parted lips and he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent. Dark chocolate, with a bare hint of strawberry. He pushed the confection into his mouth, and he enjoyed the blend of flavors. He opened his eyes again a moment later and, still savoring the chocolate in his mouth, he retrieved his Shinigami phone from his pocket.

 "You'd better work for me this time, if you know what's good for you," he warned the device around the mouthful of chocolate, and then he flipped it open and selected Grell's number from the quick dial menu. He grinned when he pressed the call button and heard it dialing as he put it to his ear. It rang quite a few times, before Grell picked up. 

"Sutcliff," said the redhead. 

"Hello, my dear," Undertaker answered, swallowing the rest of his treat. "A funny thing happened to me when I opened shop, this morning. A young lady from the London Dispatch branch dropped by with a gift." 

"Is that so?" Grell sounded amused. "And what did you think of this gift?" 

"It's very tasty," approved Undertaker. He glanced at the clock. "Although, it's probably too early for chocolate." 

"You'll never be able to abstain from it," Grell said dryly. 

Appreciating the irony, Undertaker laughed. "Think so, do you?" 

"I _know_ so," answered the redhead with confidence. "You can't make it through the day without something sweet." 

Undertaker leaned against his desk and crossed his booted ankles over one another. "I'd lick you for my daily sweets requirement, if only my tongue would reach through the phone." 

Grell giggled. "That's the most effusive romantic compliment you've given me yet. It makes me wish I was there for you to make good on that." 

Undertaker smirked, imagining how and where he would like to start licking Grell first. "I suppose I'll just have to be patient and wait for the weekend." 

Grell's response came through sounding a bit sheepish. "So then, did you read my limerick? I know it was rather awful, but the sentiment was real." 

Undertaker's smile softened with affection. "Yes, and the limerick was very entertaining. You are completely forgiven, my dear." 

"Well thank death that's over," sighed Grell. "I hardly slept all night." 

Undertaker frowned. "You could have just called me up to talk about it, love. There wasn't a need to fret yourself out of a good night's rest." 

"I know," answered Grell, "but I was too emotional and I needed to clear my thoughts. I'm really not the best at offering sincere humility, you know." 

Undertaker grinned. "Do tell." 

There was a muffled sneeze before the redhead spoke again. "Careful. I'm still volatile, you old bat." 

The ancient reaper chuckled. "And I'm still a compulsive trickster. I suppose for the sake of getting you into my bed in the future, I should really try to be more mindful of that...at least until the little nipper is born." 

"I thought you didn't take my threat of abstinence seriously," Grell said smugly. 

"Oh, I believed you would try to hold back," confessed Undertaker. "I just didn't believe you'd succeed, love." 

Grell made an indignant sound, but then he sighed. "Oh, who am I fooling? This pregnancy is making me even more randy than before. I could outdo a cat in heat, the way I'm feeling right now." 

Undertaker laughed with amusement. "Then maybe you should consider taking a sick day or two, and coming to see me during the week. I'd be ever so happy to help relieve your discomfort, my love." 

"Oh, don't tempt me," sighed Grell. "I would _love_ to come and sleep at your place tonight, but I know if I do, I'll just be late getting back to work tomorrow and then Will is going to question whether I can still keep my hours. I don't want to give him any excuse to try and force maternity leave on me before I've thought it all out." 

Undertaker frowned, and he was thankful that Grell couldn't see through the phone to witness the expression. He feared they were eventually going to have an argument about his work hours, and he wanted to leave him to his independence for as long as he could. Once he started to get heavy, Grell was going to need help with some things and he could kiss some of that freedom and independence goodbye when the baby came. Even with Undertaker doing half the parenting, the wee minion was going to require a lot of attention. 

"Undertaker?" 

The funeral director shook himself out of his thoughts. "Yes, Grell...sorry, I got distracted for a moment. Just try to be sure you get enough rest, love." 

"I'll try," promised Grell. "I...I miss you. I know it's only been a couple of days, but I miss that smile." 

Undertaker beamed, warmed by the endearment. "Then keep my locket close and when you look at the photo in it, just remember I'm somewhere on this side probably grinning even wider than in the picture." 

Grell chuckled. "I'd better get started on the day's work before I get accused of slacking." 

Undertaker sighed before he could censor himself or cover the mouthpiece. 

"Don't you sigh on me," warned Grell. "I'm not as fragile as you think. There's a woman only one month from dropping her loaf in General Affairs, and she gets by just fine. I can handle working at least until I begin to show." 

"Yes, dear," agreed the ancient helplessly, having accepted the fact that he couldn't win this argument. He would have to be content with keeping tabs on him via telephone, for now—unless he wanted to board up his shop, suck it up and move back to the Shinigami realm. He shivered at the thought. "Phone me tonight when you return home, would you?" 

"Of course! Until then, my silver love!" The sound of kissy noises could be heard on the other end of the line, and then it hung up. 

Undertaker turned the phone off and replaced it in his pocket. He glanced at the box of chocolates, selected another one and popped it into his mouth. Coconut. He nodded in satisfaction and he started to resume his work on the coffin, only to have his desk phone start ringing. He again stopped, and he went to answer it. 

"South side Mortuary," he said, "Undertaker speaking." 

"Good morning," said a familiar female voice on the other end. "I hope I haven't rung at a bad time." 

Undertaker smiled, recognizing the voice of the head librarian from the Shinigami vaults of history. "Not at all, my dear. Have you found the tomes I requested?" 

"Yes sir. I'll have them sent to your place of business this afternoon. And Mr. Undertaker...please don't forget to turn them back in when you've finished with them. I got in trouble, the last time." 

Undertaker chuckled. "It's a promise. Thank you, Mrs. Edwards." 

~***~ 

Unfortunately, Grell's plans to spend the weekend at Undertaker's fell short. What he at first presumed to be allergies turned out to be the beginnings of a cold, and his doctor ordered him to stay in and rest, until he got better. He wasn't allowed to return to work until Dr. Francis was satisfied that his lungs were clear and free of any respiratory infection. Miserable that he'd have to spend the weekend sick in bed, Grell called his lover and informed him as he walked into his apartment, after his checkup. 

"No, the doctor says I should avoid traversing the realms while I'm sick like this," Grell said, sniffling. "This is just so bloody unfair!" 

He was _really_ looking forward to being with his love all weekend, and now everything was ruined. He felt another sneeze coming on and he turned his head away from the phone and hastily stuffed his lacy red handkerchief against his nose. 

"Ah-choo!" 

He could hear Undertaker calling out to him through the phone. "Grell, love?" 

Grell wiped his nose and brought the phone to his ear again. "I'm here," he said wretchedly, "but I think I've just sneezed out half of my brains." 

"You're remarkably coherent, for a person with only half a brain," teased Undertaker. 

Grell's sense of humor was poor right now, and he sighed. "I'm too miserable for jokes right now, Undy." 

"You certainly sound it," agreed the ancient. "Don't fret over it, my dear. We'll have next weekend and it's more important that you get well. Just follow the doctor's orders and get plenty of rest." 

"I will," grumbled the redhead. "I've got a new steamy romance novel to curl up with. It's going to be a poor substitute for my 'shaft of love', though." 

Undertaker chortled with delight. "So I can't call myself that, but you can?" 

Grell smirked in spite of his sickly discomfort. "The silly pet name has grown on me, thanks to your tenacious teasing." 

"Lovely play on words, kitten," complimented the ancient with a snicker. "Ah, I wish you were here so that I could nurse you back to health." 

Grell pouted a bit, but he refrained from telling Undertaker that he could just come to him if he really wanted to. He didn't want to resort to emotional blackmail. He'd already been an impossible brat to him, and he was really trying to avoid being one of _those_ pregnant ladies. 

"You can give me a checkup of your own when I'm well enough to come and see you again," Grell suggested instead, smiling. "I know you'll make up for the weekend we missed out on, darling." 

"That and more," promised Undertaker. "Call me if you really need anything, love." 

Understanding that he'd just basically told him that he would come if he really, really needed him to, Grell's smile softened. "I think I'll be fine, you adorable lunatic. Don't worry." 

"Can't help but," insisted Undertaker lightly. "Take care and keep me updated on your recovery process, my dear." 

"I will," agreed Grell. "Goodnight, my love." 

~***~ 

Undertaker's smile vanished as he hung up the phone. He looked down at the tome lying open on his desk, and he traced the last line he'd been reading with a black nail. His hat was off and he had his bangs pinned back from his face, so that he could see more clearly. He read the words by the flickering lantern light and he sighed. 

Yes, there _were_ records of other Shinigami like Grell in the past, and with the help of the librarian, he'd found some of them. Unfortunately, there were no recent findings for the past two hundred years. Every androgynous or hermaphrodite reaper that had come forward in the past eventually died on the job or outright committed suicide. Undertaker had no doubt that there were others in hiding. 

Grell was a masculine androgyne, which meant he outwardly favored the male form in appearance. Feminine counterparts had existed in the past, and probably still existed today. Below the waist, they were just like Grell. The difference was that they had breasts and more noticeably delicate features, so passing as male would have been harder for them. 

Undertaker read through the passage about angels and their ability to change genders at will, or to be completely asexual, if they wished. There were theories that because reapers were distant cousins to angels, some of those gender-altering properties were present within them, but they couldn't consciously choose their gender and switch between the two, the way angels could. 

_"This could in theory be the reason why some reapers reborn from human souls develop hermaphroditism and androgyny,"_ read Undertaker aloud, frowning. _"When their new, preternatural bodies begin to form, the personality behind the soul directs it."_

He looked up from his book and he nodded, reaching for a bone-shaped cookie. "Just as I thought." He remembered reading about this subject long, long ago, but he was rusty. He munched his cookie and he flipped through the pages, seeking out specific information concerning the reproductive capabilities of reapers with Grell's specific kind of androgyny. 

"Ah-hah!" He found the appendix he was searching for, and he read eagerly. "There _have_ been other pregnancies in the past. I thought so!" 

He read over the passage carefully, his eyes narrowed in concentration. _"It is possible for some of these individuals to become pregnant or impregnate others, though androgynes lacking testes can only conceive; and aren't capable of impregnating others. Shinigami hermaphrodites with ambiguous genitalia have been confirmed to be completely sterile."_     

Undertaker read further, and his heart went cold when he reached the part concerning pregnancy and childbirth for androgynes like Grell. 

_"No pregnancy occurring within either masculine or feminine androgynes has ever been successfully carried to term, according to our records. Those that don't end in miscarriage by the end of the second trimester result in stillborns. It is believed that the androgyne mothers not only suffer hostile wombs, but their bodies do not sustain the needs of the growing fetus enough for it to reach full maturity and survive to childbirth."  
_

Undertaker stopped reading, and his eyes went blank. "Not one of them," he murmured. "Not a single known case of successful childbirth." 

He scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes, and he rubbed his temples. "My rose will be devastated, if his takes the same turn." 

He knew how excited Grell was about this, even if he complained endlessly about the new requirements he was under to maintain a healthy pregnancy. One of the reasons Undertaker had been trying so hard to make it happen for him—a thing which he never openly told Grell, since the chances of success were almost non-existent—was because he knew how much he envied women their capacity to have babies. 

"If he loses this child...but no, I can't think that way. I won't allow that to happen if I can help it." 

Undertaker bookmarked his page and shut the book, and then he began to make preparations to close shop for the weekend and go. His phobia concerning the Shinigami realm could be damned; he was going to take care of Grell and discuss options with Dr. Francis. 

~***~ 

-To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

 

"Oh, this is miserable!" Coughed Grell as he reached for his hanky yet again. 

He'd gone through four of them already, and a bundle were going through the wash. He needed to invest in some disposable tissues. He'd never been sick before since becoming a reaper; it so rarely happened with their kind...not at all with most. Some could wear themselves down to the point of being susceptible to illness via compromised immune system, but that typically only happened as a result of malnutrition, exhaustion...or pregnancy. He was one of the "lucky" ones that fell under that narrow umbrella, apparently. 

He clicked the channel changer on his remote and sniffled, trying to find something interesting to watch on the Telly. Morning television was the worst. He didn't want to hear news of the realm, nor was he interested in Earth world events. Thank Death for soaps, though. His head was pounding too much to enjoy reading, and his eyes were watery from the sinus drainage. Daytime soap operas were his only source of entertainment now, besides his phone conversations with Undertaker and his inevitable nighttime wanking. In addition to being even more emotionally volatile than before, he was randy all the time. 

"I want my shaft of love," he groused, sniffing again as he turned the channel once more. "Forbidden" came on and he settled on it. He was starting to get attached to the cast—particularly the reaper agent and the human woman he'd fallen in love with. 

"She will betray him," he predicted, settling back against his piled pillows and sipping his nasty drink. He grimaced at the flavor and decided to chug it down. At least with this damned cold, he couldn't taste the beetroot as vividly as before. Caroline and Hanz were arguing heatedly on the television, and Grell smirked when their argument changed into passionate kisses. 

"But first," he amended, "she'll get another reaper injection from him. Who could blame her? He's gorgeous!" 

He broke off into another fit of coughing and he groaned with frustration. How did mortals _stand_ this, all the time? He narrowed his eyes at his still-flat belly and he pointed at it. "This is your fault, gremlin." 

He'd grown quite fond of calling his offspring by the unflattering pet name. There was no real bite to it...he just had difficulty fawning over the growing life-form aloud. Inside, however, he already loved it completely. It was a little bit of both him and Undertaker, and he just _knew_ it would be the most beautiful reaper baby ever to be born. 

He just wished it would stop making him sick. 

The doorbell rang, and Grell sighed. Fortunately, his show was taking a commercial break. He got out of bed and he put his robe on, before leaving the bedroom to answer the door. "Make it quick," he snapped as he unlocked the front door and yanked it open. His annoyance died into surprise to find his lover standing there with one of his customary, toothy grins and a red rose in his hand. He wore his usual mortician garb, complete with the top hat he adored so much. "Undy?" 

"Aren't you going to invite me in, love?" He held out the rose to him in offering. 

Grell's smile nearly matched his as he took the offered flower and stepped aside, gesturing graciously. "Do come in, love of my life! What brings you to this realm?" 

"You, of course," answered the older reaper with a smirk. "You're about the only thing that can, you know. I've come to take care of you while you're ill." 

Grell found that terribly sweet and irresistible. He self-consciously ran his fingers through the tangle of his hair and he turned away. "Oh...I know I look frightfully unkempt. You should have called me first, so that I could tidy up for you!" 

Undertaker closed the door behind him and he laid his hands on Grell's narrow shoulders, rubbing them soothingly. "I've seen you look worse, pet. Besides, sick people aren't supposed to win beauty contests. The fact that you look this good at all right now is a feat unto itself, given how stuffy you sound." 

Grell sniffed at the mention of his sinus issue, worried that he might get a leak in front of Undertaker. He took the man's compliment graciously, knowing that it wasn't in the mortician's nature to pay lip service. "You really think I don't look horrid?" He turned around hesitantly to look up at the taller reaper, and he relaxed when Undertaker shook his head and caressed his cheek. 

"Not at all, love. You look like my pretty rose, only slightly wilted from sickness. My, my...you _are_ running fever, aren't you? Let's see if ol' Undertaker can make it a bit better for you." 

Before he could respond, Grell found himself scooped up into the mortician's arms. He impulsively put his arms around Undertaker's neck, careful not to crush the rose in his hand. He sighed and laid his cheek against his shoulder as the taller man carried him back into his bedroom to put him back to bed. "It's only a bit of a cold," he insisted. 

"And that is an unusual thing for a reaper," reminded Undertaker, "so I'm going to stay with you until it passes. I'll get my luggage from the hall outside after I've tucked you in. You aren't used to dealing with illness and you don't know how to properly take care of yourself." 

"And I suppose you do?" challenged Grell. Honestly though, not even the doctor was sure about the best treatment for his cold. That was how rarely sickness occurred amongst his kind. 

Undertaker nodded. "I've lived in the mortal realm for centuries, darlin'. I took up medicine and learned everything I could about their biology, and as a Phantomhive family associate, I've wiped my share of noses when a child of the house got sick while I was visiting. My expertise may be with the dead, but I know more about human flues and colds to take care of you." 

"I see," sighed the redhead, unable to dispute him. He placed the rose in the vase beside his bed, where another one from a couple of days ago sat. "And what if I don't want you here coddling me? You didn't even bother to ask." 

Undertaker shrugged. "Well, if you'd rather I leave..." He started to get up, but Grell's hand shot out and caught hold of his trailing outer robe before he could take so much as a step. 

"I said 'what if'," said Grell hastily, "I didn't say I actually don't want you here." 

Undertaker turned and looked down at him with a saucy grin. "You're usually better at this game, love." 

"I'm sick," huffed the crimson reaper. "My wits are compromised. I think I might have blown them out into a tissue, at some point." 

The mortician laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Right. I should know better than to wage psychological war on a disadvantaged opponent." He leaned over and kissed Grell's heated cheek. "First thing we need to do is get your fever broken. Rest and fluids aren't always enough. I'm going to run you a cool bath to soak in." 

"I don't want a cold bath," protested Grell, sniffing. He reached for another hanky to blow his nose. "Are you here to nurse me or torture me?" 

"The bath will help bring your body temperature back down," insisted the Undertaker. "I'll be in it with you, to make it fair. A high fever probably can't kill you the way it does humans when it escalates, but it could still cause brain damage if it goes out of control. I don't want you to become a vegetable, my dear." 

Grell made a face. "You really think that could happen from a simple cold?" 

"It's a possibility, if your fever soars too high." Undertaker stroked his disheveled hair and removed his hat, tossing it on the rocking chair in the corner of the room. "I'd rather not take that chance, for you or the baby." 

Grell heaved a sigh. "Fine. Go run the bath, then." 

As his lover got up to comply, Grell watched him go and he sighed at the thought of the body hidden beneath all those layers of black. At least he'd have the pleasure of being naked and wet with the man. He started to grin in spite of himself. 

"I really am a strumpet." 

~xox~ 

Undertaker checked the temperature of the water once the tub filled, and he found it suitable for his purpose. Cold but not painfully so, it should make a difference without making Grell suffer overly. He went back into the bedroom and his brows shot up beneath his overhanging fringe when he found his lover stark naked on the bed, lying back with his fingers laced casually behind his head. His ankles were crossed and his cock was in a state of obvious arousal—which stood to reason that his lady bits probably were, too. Grell smiled seductively at him as he approached, and he crooked a finger. 

"I know you probably shouldn't be kissing me on the mouth," he purred, "but that doesn't mean we can't use our mouths elsewhere, my love." A cough rumbled in his chest, spoiling the seductive suggestion. 

Undertaker grinned down at him and sighed, his veiled gaze traveling the length of his pale splendor with appreciation. "Trying to distract me from taking proper care of you, love?" 

Grell's eyes widened slightly. "Goodness, no. After all, nudity is a requirement for bathing, is it not? I'm merely pointing out that we can enjoy other things while you try to freeze me." 

The mortician chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning over to plant a soft kiss on Grell's parted lips. "My chances of catching your illness are so slim, it doesn't even bear mentioning. You've only got this cold because your immune system was weakened enough by the pregnancy for it to latch on." 

Grell put his arms around the silver reaper's neck, kissing the corners of his mouth just as softly. "I hope you're right, darling. I've so missed your kisses." 

Helplessly aroused by the loving attention, Undertaker ran his palm over Grell's chest, then down to his stomach. He rested it flat against the lower expanse of his belly for a moment, sensing their unborn child there even though it was too early to feel it move. It was subtle, but Grell's waist had begun to thicken a little. The mortician grinned at the thought of his love with a baby bump and a pregnant waddle. 

"What's so funny?" demanded Grell between kisses. He turned his head to the side as another cough surfaced. 

"Oh, I was just thinking of how darling you'll look with a preggy waddle," admitted the older reaper. He let his hand drift lower and he pulled away to watch Grell as he curled his fingers around the staff of his arousal and began to stroke it slowly. The redhead's eyes fluttered shut and he caught his lower lip between his teeth, making a needy sound in his throat. Undertaker took a few moments to pleasure him, enjoying the reactions he was getting. The fevered flush in Grell's cheeks deepened with passion as the mortician steadily fondled him, and Undertaker's groin throbbed with answering desire as the pale thighs parted invitingly and the talented hips began to undulate. 

"I'm very tempted to postpone the soak and have my way with you right now," confessed Undertaker huskily. As demanding a lover as Grell could be, he knew how much it excited him when he surrendered to his touch and got that...expression...on his face. 

"Take me," sighed Grell eagerly, opening his eyes to gaze up at him with sultry intent. 

Styx, he was tempted to. The temptation to undo his pants, climb onto his lover and start shagging him silly was quite strong...but he needed to master his lust and put Grell and the baby's health before his own desire. 

"Maybe after the soak," he said with some regret. "Making love will just heat you up more, my dear." 

"Then let me burn," whimpered Grell, pumping into his gripping hand with enthusiasm. "I want you inside of me. It's been over a week!" 

"I'll take care of your needs, one way or the other," promised the mortician, reluctantly stopping his phallic massage. "Right now, we need to lower your body temperature." 

"B-but I'm so randy!" protested Grell with a whine of frustration. 

"Maybe the cool water will change that," hypothesized Undertaker. He scooped him up, grunting as the redhead's hip rested against the bulge hidden beneath his clothing. "If you still need release after that, you know I'll be happy to oblige, love." 

Grell sighed in bereavement and grumbled under his breath as he was carried out of the room and down the hallway. "You'd best be ridding yourself of those layers and climbing in with me," he warned when they made it into the expansive bathroom. "Else this is going to be more unpleasant for you than for me." 

Undertaker set him down on his feet, grinning. "I'll be joining you, like I said." He nodded at the pearl hair combs sitting in a container on the basin. "Let's get your hair pinned up and then I'll strip down." 

Grell immediately began to gather his crimson locks, so hastily that his companion laughed at him. "Insufferable rogue," grumbled the redhead. "Yes, I'm quite eager to get you undressed. Enjoy that." 

"I will," promised the ancient. While Grell twisted his hair into a bun and secured two of the combs in it, Undertaker began to undress. He snickered under his breath as the smaller reaper began to help him as soon as he finished with his hair, the slim fingers flying over the buttons to undo them. 

"My, my...so impatient," teased the mortician. He gasped in spite of himself a moment later when Grell boldly cupped his crotch and gave it a rub that had him pushing into his palm instinctively. "Not to mention naughty." 

Grell caught one of the buttons lining the taller reaper's shirt between his teeth and he pulled it loose easily, grinning up at him as he released the object and let it fall out of his mouth. He gave the bulge between his thighs a squeeze, drawing a grunt from him. "Yes," he purred in agreement—or at least tried to. His seductive response ended in another coughing fit. 

"Easy, love," cautioned the mortician as Grell turned away to avoid coughing on him. Undertaker hastily finished undressing, working the straps free around his thighs and tugging his boots off with practiced skill. Now clad only in his hair and his scars, he stepped into the tub and sank down. His balls clenched at the chill and he grimaced a little, his erection softening somewhat under the assault of cold water. He let his hair spill over the side of the tub rather than fooling with tying it up, and he held his arms open and looked up at his lover expectantly. 

"Your turn, lovely." 

Grell sighed. "If it weren't for the gorgeous, naked man awaiting me, there would be no way in hell I'd do this." 

Undertaker grinned and took his hands to support him as the redhead gingerly stepped into the tub. He released his hands and cupped his waist as he sank down into the water, and then he embraced him from behind when he sat between his pale, spread thighs with his back to him. Grell shivered at the cold and leaned back against the ancient as Undertaker reached for the bottle of bath gel on the rack. 

"That isn't how it is used," Grell hastily said when the mortician began to pour the gel into the water. 

Undertaker stopped, puzzled. "Oh?" He sniffed the contents of the bottle. "I thought it was an herbal soak. It smells like honey and almonds." 

"It's liquid soap," explained Grell with an amused smirk. "You pour it on the sponge and lather with it." 

"Ah, I see." Undertaker did as directed, lathering said sponge with interest. "I'm used to the bar soap." 

"Old fossil," teased Grell. He felt a sneeze coming on and he pinched his nose until the sensation faded. "You miss out on so many luxuries, staying in the mortal realm all the time." 

Undertaker laughed. "Maybe so, but I enjoy it, rough life and all. Lean forward a bit so I can get your back." 

Grell did so, and Undertaker soaped him down with care before dipping the sponge in the water and rinsing him off. He kissed the side of his neck when the redhead tilted it in pleasure, gently tonguing the chill-pebbled skin in the process. He smiled when Grell made a frustrated sound in his throat. 

"Remember, I promised to see to your needs later," soothed the mortician as he lathered up the sponge again. "Have I ever failed to deliver?" 

"No," sighed Grell, squirming, "but I don't like to wait. You are such a _tease_ , Undy." 

"I'm only trying to take care of my lady," rebuked Undertaker. "You can lean back against me, now." 

Grell did so without argument, shivering. Undertaker nuzzled his temple and began to soap up his chest, shoulders and arms. "I know it's chilly, my dear. Your body temperature has already dropped to a more suitable level though; and that's a good thing. You shouldn't have to put up with it for very much longer." 

Though he grumbled in complaint, Undertaker knew that Grell enjoyed the loving attention he was getting from him. The chill in the water effectively cooled his passions enough to get through the bath without mauling him, and Undertaker dried him off when it was finished. He bundled Grell up in the soft, fluffy bathrobe he favored in the winter; the one with the red satin finish. Grell sighed as the mortician dried himself off and covered his waist with a towel. 

"Must you hide it?" complained the redhead as he lost sight of Undertaker's groin. 

Undertaker grinned at him and he freed Grell's hair from the pins holding it back, combing his fingers through the crimson masses admiringly. "It's a bit chilly in here yet, to go wandering about starkers." 

Without warning, Grell made a grab for the towel. "I deserve some reward for putting up with that," he said as he snatched the item off the taller man's waist. He smiled with delight at his success as Undertaker made a hasty grab for the towel, and then he pouted when the mortician snatched it back and wrapped it around himself again, hiding his endowments once more. 

"You'll get your reward and then some," promised Undertaker, shaking his pale bangs out of his eyes and clicking his tongue admonishingly. "After you've had some soup." 

Grell's nose crinkled. "Soup?" He had to turn and cough a moment later, and his companion waited for the fit to end before explaining further. 

"I'd wager you haven't had a thing to eat today," said the mortician, crossing his arms over his naked chest. "Am I right, love?" 

Grell shrugged. "It isn't easy to enjoy food when I can't taste it. My nose is both runny and stuffed up!" 

"You still should eat," admonished the mortician gently. "You need to keep up your strength, and when you aren't getting nourishment, neither is our baby." 

The redhead placed a hand impulsively over his stomach. "Oh, all right. You've presented a fine argument." 

Undertaker's smile returned, dazzling Grell once more. "Good. Now why don't you get comfy in bed while I dress and cook, hmm?" 

With a sigh, Grell started past him. He snatched the Undertaker's towel off as he went by and this time, he ran with it and kept his lover from retrieving it. His giggles turned into a coughing fit and he was soon doubled over in the hallway, absently clutching the towel as he tried to stifle his hacking. His naked companion joined him with a little sigh and stroked his hair until the fit ended. It wasn't in Undertaker's nature to be overly serious, but the stern look on his scarred face was proof that he was quite capable, when it was necessary. 

"Enough playing," ordered the taller reaper as he retrieved his towel once more and put it around his waist. "To bed with you, or I'll have you over my knee." 

Grell cuddled up against him and batted his eyelashes. "Promise?" 

Undertaker's lips predictably curved into a grin and he chuckled in spite of himself. He patted Grell on the rump and gestured toward the open bedroom door. "Go on, love." 

Knowing he would eventually get the loving he craved, Grell did as advised and removed his robe before climbing into his big, comfy bed and pulling the covers up. He reached for his book and he clicked the lamp to a higher setting for an easier read, while his lover changed into a fresh set of clothes and got to work in the kitchen. It occurred to Grell that there was an advantage to being ill. Undertaker would no doubt spoil him rotten. Being doted on wasn't half bad at all. 

~xox~ 

He took a sip from the ladle when the soup was just about ready, and he decided to add another pinch of salt and black pepper. "Not bad," Undertaker decided. He generally preferred a thick stew over soup, but this was what mortals always ate when sick with a cold or flu, and it seemed to help. He spooned up a serving into one of Grell's fancy bowls and he put it on the bed tray with a soup spoon, a slice of bread and a glass of orange juice. Whistling softly to himself, the mortician carried the tray down the hall and into his lover's bedroom. 

"Here you are, my dear," announced the ancient as Grell looked up from his book. "Chicken noodle soup. Eat up." 

Grell smiled at the little vase with the single black rose, sitting on the corner of the tray. "That's a lovely touch. When did you find time to get that?" 

"I brought it with me," answered the mortician. "You know I always have a flower for you, darlin'." 

Grell's cheeks bloomed with a blush of pleasure, and he reached out to lay a hand over one of Undertaker's as he sat up a little straighter. "You're so good to me, my love." 

The older reaper smiled again. "I do my best." He squeezed Grell's hand before fluffing his pillow. "Now, eat up. I'll go have mine in the kitchen and come back for your tray when I've finished." 

Grell sighed as his lover left again, and he spooned up a bite of the soup. He couldn't taste much of it, but it had good flavor and his stomach rumbled unexpectedly. Finding himself hungrier than he thought, he quickly devoured the soup and drank his juice. 

~xox~ 

Undertaker found him asleep when he returned to take the tray, and he bent over to plant a kiss on his cheek before lifting the tray off of his lap. He took it into the kitchen and put the bowl, spoon and glass in the sink for washing, before returning to the bedroom to tuck Grell in. He removed his glasses and partially scooped the slumbering redhead up to position him, trying to ignore the feel of his nude skin against his hands. Grell stirred and blinked his eyes open, putting his arms around his neck. 

"Lie with me?" 

Undertaker gazed into those long-lashed eyes and he knew Grell wouldn't take "no" for an answer. With a nod, he slipped out of his boots and crawled into the bed with him. Grell pressed himself full-length against his body and sighed, putting an arm around his waist as he nuzzled the scar encircling his throat. His bare groin was erect against the mortician's thigh, and he rubbed it enticingly against the spot. 

"Do I get my reward for good behavior, now?" Grell's voice was a seductive purr of intrigue. 

Undertaker ran his hand down the smaller reaper's smooth back, letting it settle on his buttocks. "I think that can be arranged, pet." 

He kissed his parted lips, mindful of his delicate condition. He debated inwardly over whether he should inform Grell that there were no records of any androgyne like him ever successfully giving birth to a live baby, and a swift pain assailed his heart. If he had any doubts before that he was completely in love with Grell Sutcliff, they were laid to rest, now. He wanted to be honest with him, but he thought it best not to upset him in his current condition. When he recovered from this sickness and regained some of his strength, he would sit down and talk with him about it. He needed to be prepared, and Undertaker himself was having difficulty bracing for the possibility of a miscarriage or stillbirth. 

"I'm rather fond of you," he murmured against the redhead's lips. "No, that's a bloody lie, isn't it? I'm mad for you." 

Grell chuckled into the kiss, running his hands over the mortician's outer garment before working the buttons open. "What an appropriate endearment, darling. You...you know I love you too, don't you?" 

Undertaker stroked his bottom, before gliding his hand around his hip to the front and curling his fingers around his jutting arousal. "I do, but it's lovely to hear you say it." He smiled as his kitten gasped with pleasure and pushed into his stroking hand. "And I adore the reactions I get when I touch you this way." 

Grell began to plant desperate little kisses over his jaw and throat, his breath tickling his skin as his fingers moved faster to get him undressed. He ran his nails over the expanse of his chest when he got his top garments open, and he helped the ancient out of them. He kissed his clavicle and moaned, hips jerking reflexively with pleasure at his sure, steady touch. 

"Undy," Grell breathed huskily. Another moan surfaced when the older reaper slicked his thumb over the damp tip of his sex. "So good...you're so very good with your hands, my darling." 

Undertaker rolled Grell onto his back, covering his nudity with his half-undressed, lean body. He caught his hands and pushed them up over his head, crossing the wrists over one another before pinning them down with one hand. He licked the side of Grell's neck as he resumed fondling him, dragging his mouth lower to his shoulder, then to his chest. He sucked on the skin briefly, leaving a light raspberry mark there before kissing his pectorals and capturing a nipple between his lips. He sucked lightly as he tongued the taut bud, making Grell shiver with delight and moan his name again. The redhead strained against his hold and Undertaker tightened his grip, ensuring that he couldn't break free. Perhaps that wasn't the best thing for him to do right now, knowing how excited it made his love when he restrained him this way. Grell panted softly and whimpered, his teeth cutting into his lower lip as he bit down on it. 

"Go easy on that, lovely," cautioned the mortician, glancing up from the bud he was sucking on to see the trickle of red escaping from Grell's lip. Grell ran his tongue over the bleeding spot and grinned at him in a way that made his body ache with lust and caused his erection to twitch in his pants. "Go easy on _me_ , too. My self-restraint gets compromised when you make Little Undertaker too happy." 

Grell pressed a thigh between Undertaker's legs and rubbed it against the bulge in his pants. "He's definitely not 'little', darling. I'd like him to come out and play." 

Fighting a groan of need, Undertaker grinned painfully at him. "Oh, he will. Of that you can be certain." 

He lowered his head to the other nipple and gave it the same treatment as the first. Grell's back arched and he thrust eagerly into the Undertaker's stroking hand, his arousal pulsing warningly. "Undy...I'm about to...oh, don't stop!" 

He had no intention of stopping. He could have applied pressure to the base of Grell's cock to prevent ejaculation, but delaying his satisfaction didn't seem like a wise thing to do, this time. Keeping a firm hold on his wrists—not only to satisfy the redhead's kink for bondage, but to prevent his hands from wandering and getting him too excited—Undertaker continued to lick and suck his nipples as he stroked him off. He kept going until the hard length in his hand bucked and spilled itself, following a cry of bliss from Grell's throat. He gentled his stroking as the sated member began to soften, and he finally released Grell's wrists and allowed him to put his arms around him. 

"I needed that," sighed Grell in gratification. He unbuckled the belt threaded through Undertaker's trousers, and he worked it and the garment open. He smiled up at the mortician as he eased his cock out and stroked it lovingly. "You're trembling, my love." 

Undertaker huffed a shaken little laugh, his body singing with pleasure at the touch. "Just trying to keep my randiness in check, my dear. I don't want to be too rough with you." 

Grell's hand slid over his length with familiar skill, and he licked his reddened lips again. "You can be rough with me, my silver guardian." 

Undertaker shook his head, his shaggy bangs covering his eyes. "No, not now. In fact, our lovemaking needs to be decidedly more tame, while you're in this condition. I'm not even sure I want to put more weight on you." 

"I'm sure it will be fine," argued Grell. "And I adore the feel of your body pressing me down. Eventually I'll be too round to do it missionary style, I'm sure...so let's enjoy it while we can. I do love to ride you, and I adore being taken from behind, but I want the intimacy of this position, tonight." 

Unable to refuse such a tempting request, Undertaker allowed his lover to pull his trousers down and help him out of them. They landed on the floor with the rest of his clothes and he gazed into Grell's sultry eyes as he eased his hips between his spread legs and balanced his weight on one arm. He lowered his mouth to his for a kiss, and he reached between his thighs to seek out his moist female entrance. Satisfied that he was ready for him, he positioned himself and entered him slowly. His breath escaped from between his teeth in a hiss of pleasure as Grell's snug warmth slowly sheathed his length, and he watched the redhead's eyes flutter shut. Grell licked his lips again and sighed his name, reaching up to comb his fingers through the pale fall of hair that fell around Undertaker's shoulders and down his back. 

"Darling...my sweet, pallid Death," moaned Grell as he began to move. "You feel...so heavenly inside of me..." 

Undertaker shared those sentiments exactly, and he groaned low in his throat and struggled against the impulse to thrust harder. Being joined so intimately with Grell again was like a drug, and he wondered how he'd gone for so long without it. He kissed the redhead's gasping lips, and he licked the drying blood from them as he began to pump with even, sure strokes. Grell embraced him with arms and thighs, holding onto him tightly as he made love to him as if afraid he would leave him at any moment. 

"Grell...love," panted the ancient. It was torture of the most exquisite sort, to keep his pace slow and gentle. He sometimes did so for a while to tease and entice his companion, or simply to savor the feel of his cock gliding forward and back inside of him. It never lasted for long, before passion got the better of them both and his thrusts hardened. He deliberately resisted allowing that to happen now, and the sensations were intense. 

"Harder," whimpered Grell pleadingly, his nails scoring long scratches over the mortician's pale, scarred back. 

Undertaker shook his head in denial, hissing again at the sting of the scratches and the excitement it caused. "Not tonight, love...not 'till I know...I won't hurt either of you." 

Grell made a frustrated sound, which quickly turned into a gasp of delight when the mortician pushed firmly inside of him and rotated his hips. What he couldn't give him in speed and force, he made up for with tenacity. Undertaker smiled down at him and resumed his slow, careful pumping. 

"You see?" he panted. "It doesn't always have to be rough and tumble, Grell." 

"Mmm," sighed the redhead. He caressed Undertaker's flexing back and spread his thighs further, hooking his ankles together just above the older reaper's pumping ass. "Such a long, thick boy you are. Feels so good, Undy." 

He was used to getting odes to his manhood when he made love to Grell, but the compliment bolstered his already heightened arousal and made Undertaker forget for a moment that he was supposed to be gentle. He withdrew to the tip and drove his length back in with a powerful thrust that made Grell's eyes roll and caused him to cry out. 

"Sorry, love," gasped Undertaker, reigning his lust in once more. 

Grell shook his head, his fair, blushing face alight with pleasure. "Don't apologize! I adore it when you do that." He brought a finger to his lips and he began to suck on it, coating it liberally with saliva. 

"I know," chuckled the ancient, "but...I need to avoid that...for now. You just feel so bloody fantastic...unh...ah, Grell...don't be naughty!" 

Grell ignored his plea, and he pressed his slickened fingertip between Undertaker's buttocks, easing it into his rectum. He grinned up at him as the mortician sucked in a sharp breath, and he felt around with determination. "But you like it when I'm naughty, darling." 

Undertaker blurted a startled curse as the questing digit found his prostate and began to stroke it. He had to give his lover props for flexibility and skill, even as he clenched against the intrusion in an attempt to ward off the stimulation. Grell didn't stop, and the pulses of sensation coupled with the feel of his body sheathing him threatened to drive Undertaker over the edge. 

"Ah, damn," groaned Undertaker, his hips snapping harder in spite of himself. He kissed Grell hungrily, cutting his lips on the sharp teeth in the process. He tasted his own blood in his mouth and his lover's tongue eagerly lapped it up. The sound of Grell's passionate moans were muffled against his lips as the mortician steadily lost the battle to keep his lust in check. 

Grell evidently decided he wanted to ride him after all, for he braced his feet on either side of the mattress and levered the older reaper up and over, rolling on top of him to straddle him. He reached behind himself and down as he began to rock on top of him, again seeking out that rarely used entrance to resume stimulating the spot inside. He gazed down at him with a sort of predatory passion as he rode his cock and massaged him inside. 

Undertaker's breath trembled on his lips as he stared up at him, his pale hair spread out around him. He cupped Grell's shifting hips, and then his ass. "Grell...darlin'...have mercy on an old man." 

The redhead smiled craftily down at him. "Since when have I ever been known to show mercy?" He coughed at the end of the sentence and the sight of him politely turning his head and covering his mouth with his free hand made the older reaper start to laugh. 

"What's so funny?" demanded Grell. He pressed firmly against that spot inside, making his companion jump involuntarily and drawing a gasp from him. "That's better." 

Undertaker couldn't respond if he wanted to, because his climax was approaching hard and fast. He bucked into Grell and he reached for the bedding, grabbing handfuls of it with clenched fists as the pleasure rose to an almost violent peak. His hips lifted off the mattress and he grunted a warning, just as he unloaded hard inside of his lover. Gasping for breath, he arched his back and tossed his head. Strands of his white hair clung to his forehead as sweat beaded there, and he looked up at Grell in a daze as the redhead smirked and withdrew his finger from inside of him. 

Grell's fingers traced the scars striping Undertaker's heaving torso as the mortician panted for breath and recovered beneath him. Grell shifted on top of him with a satisfied purr, leaving his spent shaft wedged inside of him. He leaned over to kiss the older reaper's slack lips, pressing his sweaty chest against his in the process. 

"Well," sighed the redhead, "if my fever wasn't broken before, it definitely is now." 

Undertaker gave his bottom a half-hearted swat, still breathless from the experience. "Cheeky little brat." 

~xox~ 

-To be continued

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Grell stayed at work for perhaps another month, before his condition forced him to take up Will’s offer.  He sat in his office staring at the paperwork, and he worried his bottom lip with his teeth until it began to bleed.  William stood waiting, a slight frown marring the cold perfection of his face.

"Do stop biting your lip, Grell," he suggested when a drop of crimson formed on the abused flesh. 

Grell looked up from the documents, his pen hovering over the dotted line he was to sign.  “Oh.  I hadn’t realized…”

He released his lip and gently sucked on it to clean the salty drop of blood off.  “Will…people are going to find out about me if I sign this.”

The brunet nodded, his features relaxing into an almost sympathetic expression.  “Unfortunately, that is correct.  Once the paperwork is filled out, they will want to contact your doctor for confirmation.  There is no avoiding that, if you want to take maternity leave.”

He walked over to the redhead’s desk and he looked down at the document pensively.  “I’ll see to it that you aren’t mistreated over this.  The first person that breathes a negative word about your condition will be reported immediately for unprofessional conduct in the workplace.  I won’t tolerate it.”

Grell blushed, and he sniffed as tears threatened.  “Thank you, Will.  I could almost believe you have my better interests at heart.”

The brunet looked away uncomfortably.  “I do.  Regardless of past transgressions, I value your contributions to this organization.  No Dispatch officer should be shamed for how they are created.  That sort of prejudice should be beneath us all.”

Grell nodded and wiped his eyes hastily.  “I suppose I should pack my things to move in with Undy tonight.”

"That would be a wise choice," agreed the supervisor softly.  "Have you told him of the feinting spells?"

Grell sighed.  “He knows they happen from time to time, and that’s why I’m doing this.  I hate feeling so…so helpless, but I know he’ll look out for me and I can’t continue working when I might black out at any moment.”

"The doctor hasn’t been able to prescribe anything that would help with them?"

Grell shook his head.  “He says that watching my diet and blood pressure is the best thing he can recommend, right now.  I’m taking the prenatal vitamins religiously and I try not to be too terribly active, but sometimes even walking around the block exhausts me.”

With that thought in mind, he gave up on procrastinating and he signed the paperwork, his signature flowing gracefully from the pen.  He put the writing tool aside and he picked up the documents, handing them over.  “I don’t think you can stop people from talking about it outside work.”  He gave the other reaper a tremulous smile.  “Then again, they already talk about me.”

"There will be some gossip for a time," agreed William as he took the papers and tucked them into a folder he’d brought with him, "but you do have allies.  By the time the child is born and you return to work, it will be an old subject and most will have already moved on to other gossip."

Grell placed a hand over his abdomen—which had started to show the slightest signs of a bump.  In another month or two, his condition would become more obvious.  “Perhaps it’s for the best that I’m leaving now, before I start to waddle.”  He smiled at the brunet again.  “Again, thank you, Will.  It makes me feel…safe…to have you on my side.”

William shrugged, never comfortable with displays of affection.  “Just take care of yourself.  I’ll see to it that you get your old position back immediately, when you’ve recovered and are ready to return to work.”

~xox~

"Well I’ll be damned," said Undertaker over the phone when Grell called him with the news that he’d be moving in that very night.  "Chilly Willy came through after all."

"It wasn’t William’s decision," scoffed Grell.  "It was mine.  I decided that mine and the baby’s health is more important than who finds out I’m androgynous.  Half of them probably suspected as much already, anyway."

The mortician chuckled.  “I don’t think it will come as such a great shock to the people that know you, love.  Just let me know when you’re on your way here and I’ll be sure to have the place tidied up and ready for you.” 

He glanced over at the red satin dress he’d purchased that day, hanging from the edge of one of his upright coffins.  “And I’ve got a little something for you that might brighten your day a bit, too.  Two something’s, in fact.  Need any help managing your things, my dear?”

"Ronnie’s offered to help me pack," answered the redhead, "and whatever we can’t fit into a carriage can be transported through the Shinigami postal system.  I’ve already dropped my lease and the landlord has agreed to wait until I’ve gotten everything out, before he puts up a new tenant here.  So darling…what are these two something’s you’ve mentioned?  I’m an absolute whore for gifts."

Undertaker laughed.  “So I’ve noticed, love…so I’ve noticed.  You’ll just have to wait to see your presents when you get here.”

Grell sighed.  “Cruel, making me wait with anticipation.”

"Just think of how much nicer it will be when you’re surprised," he insisted.  "I can’t wait to hold you and give you a good snuggle.  We’ll have a nice dinner tonight to celebrate your moving in with me, all right?"

"That sounds lovely," agreed the redhead, sounding a little happier.  "You are so very good at making a lady feel loved, sweet madman.  You’ll spoil me, you know."

"Too late," quipped the mortician lightly.  "You’re already a rotten little darling, but I don’t mind."

"Only you could get away with calling me rotten and make it sound so romantic," sighed Grell.  "I’ll try not to be too late getting there, my love."

"Just don’t strain yourself trying to hurry," cautioned the mortician.  "Until then, pretty rose."

~xox~

Still wondering what his lover had gotten for him, Grell said his goodbyes to his office and he clocked out for the last time.  He was feeling a bit nostalgic as he left Headquarters and traveled to his apartment building.  He never thought he could actually miss work like this, but now that he knew he wouldn’t be returning for at least seven months depending on his recovery time after the birth of his child, it pained him to go.  He supposed it was normal for one not to fully appreciate what one has, until it’s gone.  Reminding himself sternly that he was still a Dispatch officer and was not leaving forever, he put aside his misgivings and greeted the doorman to his apartment building.  He took the elevator up, and he fought a moment of dizziness as he ascended.

"I am so tired of this," he sighed as he leaned against the back rail and waited for it to pass.  He’d done everything Dr. Francis advised; he’d increased his salt intake, drank at least two full glasses of milk per day, and even drank that awful beetroot concoction he’d been advised to take regularly.  Surely his condition should have improved by now.

The dizzy spell ebbed as he reached his floor, and the redhead breathed easier.  Feeling it was safe to let go and walk out of the elevator now, he waited for the doors to open and stepped into the hall.  Digging the keys to his apartment out of his jacket, he walked to the door and prepared to unlock it.  Grell frowned when he realized it was already unlocked, and he looked around suspiciously.  Did he forget to lock it before he left?  He swore he could remember securing the dead bolt in place.

Suddenly cautious at the possibility of an intruder, Grell manifested his death scythe and pushed the door open, ready to saw someone in half before they could so much as blink at him.  The lights came on abruptly as the door swung open, and Grell found himself staring at a living room full of his work associates. 

"Surprise!" they shouted, and then streamers and confetti exploded everywhere.  Ronald was in the lead, wearing a blue and yellow sparkly party hat and blowing on a party favor.

"What…what’s all this?" Grell exclaimed, putting a hand to his heart.  "A lady could have a heart attack!"

Eric Slingby stepped up with a grin, and he offered Grell a red glitter tiara.  Putting it on the crown of his head for him, he nodded at the other reapers.  “It was Ron’s idea ta see yeh off,” offered the Scottish reaper.  “He said yeh should go out wi’ a bang, an’ we agreed wi’ him.”

Grell’s surprised expression melted into a smile, and his eyes sought out Ronald’s. He’d completely forgotten that he had given Ronald a copy of the keys to his apartment, in case he ever needed to crash or required his help.  “Oh, you sweet little pest!  You gave me such a fright!”

Ronald laughed.  “Well, I thought you deserved a special send-off, Senpai.  We know you’ll be coming back, but Dispatch won’t be the same while you’re away.  Just wanted to show ya how much we appreciate you.”

Grell was indeed surprised…and touched.  There were reapers like Eric and Alan and Ronald whom he knew were genuinely fond of him, but he didn’t know he had this many fans.  He counted nineteen reapers from his department, and even William was there.  He wasn’t wearing a party hat and he stood dignified and quiet in the back, but he was there.  Grell met his eyes across the distance and he grinned.

"Will, did you know about this when you came to my office today?"

"I did not," answered the brunet evenly.  He glanced over at Ronald.  "This was one of Mr. Knox’s last moment ideas."

"We all pitched in," said Alan with a smile.  "We thought it was a great idea.  There’s cake and champagne, and sparkling grape juice for the mum to be."

Grell suddenly felt like crying.  They all knew now…and yet there they were, throwing him a farewell party.  He saw curiosity in the faces of some, but none of them were looking at him like he was a freak.  Maybe Undy was right and they already suspected there was something more unusual about him than what met the eye.  Maybe hearing the news that he was expecting explained a lot of unasked questions for them.  Whatever the reason for their shocking acceptance, he was grateful beyond words.

"Ronnie, come here," ordered the redhead with a sniffle.  "I want to kiss you."

"No tongue," insisted the grinning blond as he approached and hugged him.  "Ya might make the Undertaker jealous if word gets back to him, and I don’t wanna be on his bad side."

Grell blurted a shaken laugh, and he kissed Ronald on the cheek as they embraced.  “We can’t have that now, can we?  You’re a sweet kid, Mustard Seed.”

"Hey, you know me," said the blond with a shrug, patting Grell’s back.  "Any excuse to party, right?"

Alan took his place next, hugging Grell gently.  “And remember if you need anything, you can always pick up the phone and call me.”

Grell began to weep softly, but they were happy tears.  “Thank you, Alan.  I’ve been so worried about what you would all think of me if you found out.  I couldn’t be happier to find out my fears were misplaced.”

Not _everyone_ from his office was there, of course.  It was only a mere handful, but he was still grateful that some of them liked him enough to support him.  After all his years of seeking approval and acceptance, this was positively the best gift they could have possibly given him.

"And don’t ferget ta send word when tha babe comes," demanded Eric.  "We’ll want ta see tha lil’ tyke."

"It’s a promise," agreed Grell.  Someone handed him a handkerchief and he dabbed his eyes with it.  "Well, let’s see this cake.  I’m feeling peckish!"

~xox~

Undertaker finished adding the last touches to his latest creation, and he stepped back to eye it critically.  Perhaps it was too soon to be planning this, given the tenuous possibility that the baby would make it to full term, but he wanted Grell to know beyond all doubt that he was excited and optimistic about this pregnancy.  “Hmm…needs more pink,” he mused, and he reached for the paintbrush to dip it and finalize his work. 

Grinning in satisfaction when it was done, he nodded and began to put away his crafting tools.  He checked the clock over the mantle as he passed through his small living room, and he frowned a bit at the time.  “Should have heard something from him by now.  That’s worrisome.”

He tried not to get anxious over it, reasoning that Grell’s doctor would have contacted him if he’d suffered another collapse.  Still, he’d expected at least a phone call from his love by now.  He walked through the curtain separating his shop from his living space, and he approached the phone on his desk.  Maybe Grell just got so caught up in packing that he forgot to ring him.  He sat down and reached for the phone to call him, since it was easier to use than the aether phone he’d bought in the Shinigami realm.  The sound of someone trying to open his shop door gave him pause, and he put the phone back on his cradle and got up to see who it was.

"Well _there_ you are, my dear,” said the mortician with a grin of relief when he opened it to find Grell standing there, his arms laden with bags.  Ronald Knox stood behind him, carrying the heavier suit cases.  “Come in, come in!  Here, let me take those from you.  My, is that a tiara on your head?”

"Indeed it is," said Grell.  "Ronnie threw me a surprise farewell party.  I tried to call you and invite you to come, but you didn’t answer your phone."

Undertaker felt like kicking himself.  “Must have had it on silent and not realized it,” he muttered, taking the bags from the redhead.  “And I wouldn’t have heard the shop phone ringing from all the way in the back.  Sorry, darlin’, but thank you for thinking of me.”  He kissed Grell on the cheek and he carried the bags into the building. 

"Well, I did save you some cake," said the crimson reaper as he and Ronald followed him inside.  "Red velvet…it’s delicious!  I know how you enjoy sweets."

"Excellent," approved the mortician.  Grell pushed the curtain aside for him and Ronald, and Undertaker carried the goods into the living room and set them down.  "Mr. Knox, you can put those in the master bedroom, down the end of the hall.  Grell my dear, I have something to show you, but I want you to cover your eyes first."

Grinning, the redhead did as instructed and put his hands over his eyes.  “I feel like it’s my birthday.  Everyone’s been giving me gifts today!  Those bags are full of baby things, by the way.  It was a farewell baby shower combination party, I suppose.”

"Isn’t that lovely," remarked the Undertaker with a grin at Ronald.  "You’re a good lad, throwing a party for your mentor like that."

Ronald smirked and he began to wheel the luggage down the hall.  “Well, we love him.  Even when he’s driving everyone crazy, Sutcliff Senpai keeps things interesting at the office.  We’re gonna miss him while he’s gone.”

Undertaker leaned over his lover and he spoke softly into his ear.  “You see?  The ones that matter don’t care about how you’re made.  How many showed up?”

"Not too many," confessed Grell, "but more than I would have expected.  All of my favorite agents were there, and that’s enough for me.  So where is this surprise, my love?"

Undertaker put an arm around his waist to guide him.  “Right this way.  We’ll be going into the spare bedroom, first.  Watch your step, darlin’.”

Grell dutifully kept his hands over his eyes as the older reaper guided him through the hallway and into the little spare room.  “All right, you can look now.”

Grell uncovered his eyes, and they widened behind his glasses at the sight before him.  The last time he’d been here, this room was full of crates and was basically being used as storage.  Undertaker had cleared it out and transformed it into a nursery, complete with a black cradle and a matching mobile hanging from the ceiling.  The cradle had a pink cushion and a soft black blanket with matching pink stars on it, and a delicate, gossamer black canopy hung over it from the ceiling.  The mobile hanging down through the canopy matched in color, with crescent moons, bats and owls dangling in black and pink shapes.  Grell put a hand to his mouth and looked around, impressed and stunned.  Undertaker had painted a moonscape on the walls, along with stars on the ceiling.  A large round rug covered the wooden floor in the center of the room, and it had the same star pattern on it as the blanket in the crib.

"Oh, Undy," sighed Grell.  "This is…you’ve outdone yourself!  I’m utterly in _love_ with this room!”

"Thank Styx you like it," breathed the ancient with obvious relief.  He smiled.  "Now I can stop worrying."

"I love it," assured Grell.  He turned and put his arms around him.  "Is this why you insisted we dine out, when I came over Wednesday?"

Undertaker nodded.  “I didn’t want you to see it ‘till it was done, and I knew you’d get suspicious if I told you not to look in there.”  He returned his embrace and he lowered his mouth to Grell’s for a kiss.  “I wasn’t sure you’d like the color scheme.”

"Not everything has to be red for me to like it," chuckled Grell.  "And I know how you adore pink."

"I finally have an excuse to use the color in my interior decorating," joked the mortician with a chuckle.  "Well, let’s show you the other gift, eh?  Cover your eyes again, my dear.  We’ll be going to the master bedroom."

Grell heard Ronald say something from the direction of said bedroom, and then Undertaker shushed him.  “Don’t spoil it, Mr. Knox.  Keep your opinion to yourself until Grell gets the chance to see it, please.”

"Oh, sorry," said the blond.  "Senpai’s gonna love it, though."

Now more curious than ever and thinking that Undertaker couldn’t possibly outdo the nursery, Grell quickened his footsteps.  He knew the interior of his lover’s house well enough by now to get around without sight.  He could tell when they were in the master bedroom once his boots touched down on soft carpet.

"Can I look yet?"

Undertaker rubbed his back and nodded.  “Go ahead, love  It’s hanging on the wardrobe.”

Grell looked, and his jaw dropped.  He approached the dinner gown slowly, his heart in his eyes as he examined the fine stitching and expensive material.  The gown was made of fine red satin, with darker sleeves and a skirt of velvet.  Tailored to the latest fashion in London, it was the most beautiful dress he’d seen in some time—and it was evidently all his.  He whirled and stared at his lover.  “Undertaker…however did you _afford_ something like this?”

Painting the nursery and crafting the furniture was one thing; Undertaker was a natural when it came to wood-crafting.  This, however, probably cost a king’s ransom, and the mortician hadn’t been selling his services for coin for that long.

The mortician shrugged and looked down, smiling.  “So you like it, then?”

"I adore it," assured the redhead, "but how…" he trailed off, noticing a few things for the first time.  The painting that usually hung on the wall near the little pot-bellied fireplace was gone.  He hadn’t noticed when he first came in, but now that he thought of it, some of Undertaker’s nick-nacks were missing from the living room, too.  He hadn’t seen the silver owl that usually sat on his mantle, nor were the brass candle holders he kept on either side of it.  In fact, Undertaker’s walls and shelves were curiously bare, and Grell’s first thought that he’d just moved things to clean up for his arrival now seemed to be incorrect.

"Undertaker, where did the painting go?" he inquired, pointing at the bare wall.  "And all of your little figurines, and candlesticks?"

The ancient shrugged again.  “It’s all just things, my dear.  I wanted you to have something nice, and that look on your face is worth more than a few baubles and pictures, to me.”

"B-but the owl!  You loved that thing!"

Undertaker blushed a little.  “Love you more.”

Grell felt like his heart would explode with love, at that moment.  He reached up to brush the silvery bangs out of his lover’s eyes, and the damnable tears started to come again.  Undertaker had a small streak of pink paint on his face, and Grell tried to rub it off with his glove.  “You adorable, sweet old basket-case.  I…I really don’t know what to say.”

"Say you’ll wear it tonight for dinner," suggested the mortician with a grin.  "I know you won’t be able to fit into it for much longer, but I had it made with your measurements and you won’t be pregnant forever.  Like I said; I don’t have much to offer but when I saw it, I knew I wanted you to have it.  I remembered those shoes of yours that you’ve been wanting to wear but had nothing to wear them with, and I thought it’d be perfect for them."

Grell buried his face against the taller reaper’s chest.  “Oh, here come the tears again!  Undy…my sweet Undertaker…I shall never love another gift as much as I love this dress, knowing what it cost you.”

Undertaker rubbed his back and held him close.  “It didn’t cost me anything that can’t be replaced, my dear.  I’d rather see my lady dressed up fancy and enjoying herself than anything else, right now.”

"Wow," said Ronald uncomfortably as they kissed, scratching his head.  "Know what?  I’ll just go uh…make some tea or something…give you two some time alone."

He made a hasty exit, not knowing what else to do.  Any doubts he might have harbored that the Undertaker was good enough for his mentor were laid to rest permanently, after hearing and seeing all that.

~xox~

After enjoying some tea and biscuits with his hosts as a snack, Ronald said his farewells and he made sure that Undertaker had his contact number if he needed anything.  With one last, half-teasing warning to take good care of his senpai, he set off to return home and leave the lovebirds to their grim nest.  A little embarrassed despite Grell’s reassurances that his home was sufficient to start their new life in, Undertaker did his best to be attentive and romantic with him.  He helped Grell into his new gown and while the redhead was styling his hair, he changed into his one decent suit for their night on the town.  With the last of the money he’d made from pawning off some of his things, he took his lover to an upscale restaurant for dinner.

"You look lovely, my dear," assured the mortician as he stepped out of the carriage and offered his hand to Grell.  The smaller reaper’s satin-gloved hand settled into his as he joined him in the street and fussed with the coiled hair piled on his head.

"What if someone notices?" Grell whispered uncertainly.  He loved to wear women’s clothes, but he didn’t often get the opportunity to dress up this way and have a handsome man on his arm.  He’d stuffed the gown to give the illusion of cleavage, but he couldn’t help but worry someone might figure out he wasn’t exactly a lady.

"Notices what?" countered the Undertaker with a bright smile, "that I have on my arm the most beautiful lady in London?  Let them notice and be envious."

A charming blush spread over Grell’s cheeks and he smiled, his teeth disguised to look like ordinary ones so as not to draw attention to him.  “You are so good to me, my love.  I think the ladies are the ones who should be envious of me!”

"Even if they aren’t, we can pretend otherwise."  The mortician winked and he nodded at the doorman as he opened the door for them.  Inside the establishment there was a band of musicians playing a romantic tune on stringed instruments.  Undertaker gave his name to the host, and they were shown to their candlelit table in the far corner of the restaurant.

"I thought you’d prefer a more private spot," confessed the mortician as they were handed their menus.

"Your waiter will be here with you shortly, sir and madam," informed the host.  "What shall I bring you to drink, in the meantime?  Champagne?"

Undertaker shook his head.  “No thank you.  My wife is in a delicate condition and I won’t imbibe while she can’t.  Bring us each a glass of ginger water, thanks.  Is that all right by you, love?”  He looked at Grell as he asked the question.

A bit taken aback by being referred to as his wife, it took Grell a moment to respond.  “Hmm?  Oh yes, ginger water is fine.” 

As the man bowed and left to retrieve their beverages, Grell leaned over the table a bit and whispered to his date.  “I’m your wife now?”

The mortician smiled.  “Well, I wasn’t about to call you my mistress, darlin’.  Does that bother you?”

Grell blushed again, looking down absently at the menu in his hands.  “Not at all, my love.  It just…surprised me.”  His mind began to race, and he glanced uncertainly at the engaging fiend sitting across from him.  “Would you ever…that is, have you considered…”  He faltered nervously as the Undertaker gave him a curious look.

"What, love?"

Grell shook his head.  What a sad, desperate thing he’d become, to consider proposing to his lover.  Surely if the Undertaker wanted him to become his wife, he’d have already offered by now.  They were having a child together, after all.  “Nothing,” sighed the redhead.  “It’s nothing.  I don’t even recall what I was going to ask.”

He returned his attention to the menu to hide his disconcertment.  “The duck a l’orange looks promising.”

"Hmm, could be."  Undertaker looked at his menu with a little frown.  "I’m really not used to dining fancy like this.  What would you recommend to an unsophisticated old codger like myself?"

Trying to put aside daydreams of walking down the isle to speak wedded vows with the ancient, Grell considered his question.  “I know how you like red meat.  Perhaps the filet mignon would be to your liking.”

The mortician nodded and smiled, folding up his menu.  “Then filet mignon it is.  Why don’t you pick the appetizers?”

"Happy to," agreed Grell sincerely.  He couldn’t believe how hungry he was getting already.  He’d had cake at his surprise party and now his mouth was watering at the thought of biting into a well-prepared meal.  "I fear I may soon get fat, with as much as I’ve been eating.  Would you still want me if I gained a little weight, Undertaker?"

"I’d still want you if you gained a lot of weight," ensured the ancient with another of his dazzling smiles.  He reached across the table to squeeze Grell’s hand.  "And keeping you well-fed is a goal of mine.  Good nutrition makes for a healthier pregnancy, my dear."

Grell gave a tremulous smile, and he returned the pressure of his hand.  He was so very _handsome_ in the three-piece, pinstriped suit.  Undertaker had gathered his hair into a ponytail and tied it back with a black ribbon.  To Grell, he looked particularly dashing tonight and as it occurred to him that they would be sharing a bed from now on, thoughts of other ways he could show his appreciation for his generosity crept into his head.

"I’m trying my best to follow the doctor’s orders," he said softly, "but I’m glad I’ll have you watching over me, making sure I don’t neglect myself.  I…don’t wish for anything to happen to this baby."

He dropped the menu and placed his other hand protectively over his abdomen.  At first he’d been rather irresolute about it, but now he wanted nothing more than to carry this baby to term and greet him or her, when they came into the world.  The only thing he could think of that might please him as much would be to become Undertaker’s wife for real, and it surprised him how quickly and easily that desire snuck up on him…and all because the man had called him his wife.

Something flashed in the mortician’s eyes—which Grell could see clearly for once because he’d pulled his hair back for this date.  For a brief instant, the Undertaker looked…pained.  “Is something the matter, my love?  I know you’ve been worried about the fainting spells, but I assure you I’m feeling just fine right now.”

The mortician’s expression softened into a gentle smile.  “Of course you are, love.  I don’t mean to be a worry-wart, it’s just been hard to be away from you when I know those happen, from time to time.”

"Well, I’m living with you now," reminded Grell with a teasing smile.  He playfully nudged the older reaper’s leg beneath the table with his foot.  "So you can watch over me and catch me if I fall."

"And I will," promised Undertaker with a nod.  "I only hope I don’t smother you, love."

The redhead shrugged delicately.  “I enjoy getting attention…you know that.  Oh, here come our drinks.  Are you ready to order?”

Undertaker nodded and he smiled up at the waiter as the man set down their beverages.  “Evening, chap.  I think I’ll be having the filet mignon, cooked medium-rare.  The lady here would like the duck a l’orange and I’ll allow her to tell you which appetizers she wants.”

Touched and a little amazed at how easily his lover used female pronouns for him—a thing which all of his other associates struggled with or refused outright to do—Grell smiled and looked at the appetizer section on the menu.  “I think we can start with a serving of the artichoke dip, followed by the stuffed mushrooms.”

Deciding that was plenty, Grell folded the menu and handed it over.

"Of course, Madame," said the waiter graciously.  "Will there be anything else?"

"I think we’re fine, right now," answered Grell.  "Thank you."

With a little bow, the waiter left with their order, leaving them in privacy.  Undertaker smiled at Grell as the redhead began to sip his drink, and he said something that made Grell choke.

"What do you think of becoming my wife for real, darlin’?"

It was like the man had read his mind, and Grell had to take a moment to cough up the beverage he’d accidentally inhaled.  He reached for his napkin and covered his mouth, holding a finger up to stall his date when it looked like Undertaker might get up to assist him. 

"I’m all right," insisted Grell when he could breathe again.  He took a deep breath, his face flushed and his heart pounding.  "Did you just ask me what I think you asked me?"

"If you think I just asked you to consider marrying me, then yes."  Undertaker nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement.  "Choking wasn’t quite the response I was hoping for, though."

"I’m sure it wasn’t," agreed Grell breathlessly.  "Undy…do you mean it?"

"Well, it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?"  The mortician spread his hands benignly.  "You’re having my baby.  We’ve been together now for some time, and I can’t see myself tiring of your company, my dear.  I know it isn’t so much an issue with reapers the way it is for humans, and maybe it’s just a slip of paper and a pair of rings, but I feel like I should at least run the thought by you and see what you think of it.  I thought of buying you a ring, but I…er…ran out of funds to do that."

He felt like he must be dreaming, and Grell pinched his own arm to be sure.  No, he was still awake.  “You would really marry me, if I said ‘yes’?”

The mortician nodded without hesitation.  “In a heartbeat, love.  I know this isn’t the most romantic way to propose, but—”

"Oh, Undertaker…I don’t care about that," sighed Grell dreamily.  "I’ve just been asked for my hand by the man I love…the father of my child!  I…I was thinking of it earlier, I confess…but I didn’t want to spoil our evening by asking you something that might scare you."

The older reaper grinned.  “There’s not much left in this world that can scare me, little rose.  Maybe other chaps would get a fright from it, but the prospect of marrying the mother of my baby doesn’t give me so much as a chill.  So…would you take the vows with me?”

The crimson reaper didn’t think this day could possibly get any better for him.  He stared into his lover’s eyes and upon seeing the sincerity in them, he swallowed and nodded, reaching for his hand again.  “Yes.  I would love to be your bride.”

The ancient visibly relaxed, and to Grell’s surprise he used his napkin to dab at his forehead.  “Whew…another relief.  Your old Undertaker can’t take much more anticipation tonight, my dear.”

Grell laughed and squeezed his hand.  “Oh, darling…you needn’t be so nervous!  I’m yours completely, and I’ll wear my wedding band with pride, even if all we can afford is brass.”

"You’ll have a golden one," insisted the mortician.  "As soon as I can afford it."

"Then I insist on splitting the cost.  I’m getting paid maternity leave and you should not have to carry the burden of the cost alone."

Undertaker looked like he might try to argue that, but he thought better of it and shrugged.  “If the lady insists.”

Their appetizers came and Grell put aside any further discussion over wedding plans for the moment, his stomach growling in response to the aroma of the food.  “This looks divine,” he said as he picked up his fork and collected some of the mushrooms from the plate, dropping them onto the little one provided for him by the waiter.  Undertaker went for a piece of the garlic toast to try the artichoke dip first.

"Mm, tasty," he approved after sampling it.  He took a couple of mushrooms for himself and he had another sip of his drink.  "I’m glad we did this, lovely.  I don’t like to get out much, but it was worth it for you."

Practically floating on a cloud of happiness, Grell blushed and rubbed the mortician’s leg with his foot under the table.  “Expect a substantial reward for all of this, my grinning Romeo.”

~xox~

Grell was perfectly content with living with his lover, which surprised him because he generally preferred a bit more luxury.  What they couldn’t fit of Grell’s belongings in the house, they stored in the attic until he could decide what he wanted to keep and what he wanted to get rid of. At least the Undertaker’s tub was a deep one, and he could stretch out in it for a long soak.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t run as hot a bath as he wanted because the doctor warned him against it in his condition.  Grell took it in stride; because his lover’s attentive care made up for the little things he missed.  Undertaker gave him foot and shoulder rubs every day, easing the little aches and pains that came with his pregnancy.  He made sure he got plenty of milk, he cooked for him, and he always warned him when there was a new client coming in for work so that Grell would know to avoid the pathway from the shop to the basement until the bodies were transported.

Just as he’d said, Undertaker began to charge coin for his services and he and Grell both saved up to buy a pair of wedding bands.  Grell even had fewer fainting spells, and he began to feel stronger.  Alan came by one day a couple of weeks after Grell moved in, and he was kind enough to share the latest office gossip with the redhead while he visited.

"Well, Eric got himself into trouble," sighed the brunet as he sipped the cup of tea Grell had prepared for him.  They sat together at the little round table in the kitchen, and the occasional noises from the basement reached their ears.  Undertaker had been very busy lately, and he excused himself to finish his current job while the two agents visited.

"Oh?"  Grell stirred cream into his own tea—a mild blend that contained no caffeine.  "What did he do?"

"He punched out one of the exchange agents from another branch."

Grell’s brows shot up.  “Whatever for?”

Alan shrugged, smiling a little ruefully.  “For insulting me.”

The redhead grinned sharply and sighed.  “That Scotsman of yours…so impulsive and protective.”

"Well, he’s going to be impulsive and _suspended_ , if he doesn’t watch his temper,” grumbled Alan.  “It really wasn’t a big deal.  The man wasn’t wrong.”

"What did he say?" queried Grell with interest.

"He heard about my illness and he said it’s my own fault for being too compassionate…feeling too much for the people I reap."

Grell bit his lip and looked down at the tea in his cup.

"You see?" Alan smirked again.  "Even you agree with him."

The redhead shrugged, remembering his first reaping assignment with William.  “When we care too much, the cinematic records can turn on us and try to take us down with the mark.  Don’t tell him I mentioned it, but Will very nearly lost his life, the first time he reaped someone.  I was there to rescue him, but it was a hard lesson for both of us.  Perhaps your compassion doesn’t rule you enough to pose an immediate danger, but it did allow the Thorns to take hold and begin growing.”

"I know."  Alan briefly shut his eyes, his young face going through a swift spasm of pain.  "And the thing that hurts the most is seeing how helpless Eric feels.  He…when I’m gone, he’s going to…"

"He’ll be a wreck," finished Grell for him, shrugging.  He wasn’t without sympathy for the couple, but he tended to look at the facts.  He’d killed the only human he’d ever loved, to prove to himself that his feelings did not rule him.  Now that he was with Undertaker and expecting a child, though, he found it impossible to shut off his emotions…impossible not to love.  He gazed at Alan with more compassion when the younger reaper visibly swallowed, and he reached across the table to squeeze his hand.

"Even if they can’t find a cure, at least you have each other now.  Eric won’t be alone.  We’ll watch over him for you and make sure the big lummox doesn’t do anything foolish."

Alan managed a tiny smile.  “Thank you.  That’s what worries me the most; him getting careless on the job once I’m not around anymore.  He says he won’t take another partner, no matter what Dispatch says.”

Grell sighed again, caught up in the romance of it.  “Those Celts are a stubborn lot…but quite loyal.”

"Don’t I know it," agreed Alan with a soft laugh, his eyes faraway.  He sighed again and propped his chin in his hand.  "I love him.  I don’t want anything to happen to him because he’s too caught up in grieving for me that he doesn’t pay attention."

Grell nodded.  “We’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen, for you.  Eric’s a likeable fellow and he has plenty of reapers willing to keep an eye on him and be there for him.”

"And he’ll have plenty trying to swoop in, once he’s single," muttered Alan.  He sipped his tea and made a face at the prospect.  "But I’ll be dead, so I guess I can’t be jealous."

"As if he would go out with any of them," snorted Grell.  "The man is devoted to _you_ , Alan, and I will eat my own stockings if he goes out on so much as a single date before at least a year has passed.”

"I just don’t want him to be lonely."

Grell shrugged and made a graceful, dismissive gesture with his hand.  “He’ll choose to be lonely for a while, but he’ll eventually be ready to move on.  That doesn’t mean he’ll ever forget or stop loving you, though.”

A little bit of the tragedy faded from the brunet’s eyes.  He looked at Grell with sincere gratitude.  “Thank you, Grell.  Most people don’t like to talk about the Thorns.  It brings them down and makes them uncomfortable.  Eric gets upset every time it’s mentioned, but sometimes I _need_ to talk about it, and you don’t shy away from it.”

Grell sipped his tea with a pensive little frown.  “Life is hard.  It’s death that’s easy…or it _should_ be.  You should be able to talk about your condition and get your affairs in order without worrying about upsetting anyone.  Hiding our heads in the sand from hardship doesn’t make the problems go away, and there’s always some way to deal with them.”

He blushed and smiled softly.  “Undertaker taught me that.”

Alan smiled as well.  “You really are smitten.  I’m happy for both of you.”

Grell nodded, again wondering how the silly old fool managed to capture his heart so completely.  “I hope you’ll be around long enough to see the baby, Alan.  I’d like you to have the chance to hold it, when it comes.”

"Of course."  Alan nodded with confidence.  "They’ve got me on new medications that are slowing the Thorns down.  The doctors say I could have another two years, so I should be here to greet the little Grell."

"That makes me happy," sighed Grell.  He genuinely liked Alan and he thought it was a shame that such a nice young man should fall victim to such an insidious disease.  Of all the reapers to be infected with a fatal illness, why gentle Alan?  It really wasn’t fair, and he deliberately tried not to dwell on it because despite his own nonchalant act, he found it tragic and romantic at once. 

He pushed his reverie aside and cast a sly grin at the younger reaper.  “On to more pleasant subjects, then.  Your Eric certainly is a handsome, sexy fellow.  I’ve always thought so.”

Alan coughed, choking a little on his tea.  “Have you?  That’s strange; usually you flirt outrageously with men you find attractive.”

"Only the single ones," corrected Grell.  "It was obvious from the beginning that the Scotsman had eyes only for you.  I’m not a home-wrecker, after all.  I can appreciate a handsome man without trying to whisk him away from his love, and even I can admit that I never had a prayer of catching his eye."

"Too feminine," agreed Alan with a chuckle and a nod.  "Eric likes them boyish, like me."

~xox~

Undertaker stopped listening in on the conversation when it turned to the subject of fawning over Eric Slingby.  He wasn’t exactly jealous because he knew Grell was only being playful, but he still didn’t like hearing him paying such high compliments to other man.  At least Grell bragged about him a little during their chat.  Besides, he had bigger concerns on his mind.  He stepped away from the foot of the basement stairs and went back into his lab closing the door behind him and pondering the body on his table without truly seeing it.  Grell’s words about life being hard and people trying to bury their heads in the sand made him rethink his decision not to warn him about the precariousness of his pregnancy.  He felt a little shamed for trying to shield his love from the truth.

"What should an old man do?" he pondered to his client, looking down at the peacefully reposed face of the dead man.  "It _is_ my lady’s pregnancy, after all.  She should know what to anticipate, but I don’t want my Grell to worry so much that he exacerbates his condition.”

He was used to referring to his love with interchangeable gender pronouns now, hardly giving it a thought.  Grell seemed to like it, and he truly thought of him as both male and female.  Hormonal balancing was a tricky thing for the average person, but for Grell, it was twice as much so.  He put out more than any woman or man, hence his highly dramatic moments. 

Could he really cope with the information that Undertaker had found, or would it cause a breakdown?  The mortician sighed, and he went to the door again to put his ear to it.  He heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs—his hearing was stronger than average due to him having learned to rely on other senses than his sight—and he backed away hastily and pretended to busy himself with the cadaver again.

Grell opened the door with a brief knock, and he poked his head in.  He had a lacy handkerchief covering his mouth and nose to cover up the smell.  Incense only went so far with a pregnant lady’s sensitive nose, after all. 

"Undy, Alan is about to leave.  Come up and say goodbye to him, my love."

"Be right up, darlin’," assured the Undertaker with a glance up from his work.  Grell didn’t wait around for him; he could only bear so much of the chemical smell at such close quarters.  He went back up the stairs and closed the door at the top of them to make sure the odor wouldn’t waft through the house.  With a little sigh, Undertaker put down the scalpel and ran his fingers through his pale hair.

"I’ve got to tell him," he decided. 

~xox~

After Alan left, Undertaker made up some more tea and took a break.  “Grell, love, we need to talk about something.”  He wasn’t smiling as he measured the herbal blend into the dunker.  He’d removed his surgical gloves and mask, and his hair hung shiny and free down his back.

Grell frowned at him, unused to seeing him look so somber.  “Is something the matter, darling?”

Undertaker glanced at him, a subtle glint of dread in his eyes.  “It’s important.  It’s about our situation.”

The redhead felt his heart sink, and he immediately jumped to the first conclusion that naturally came to him.  “You are getting cold feet, aren’t you?  After living with me you see how unbearable I can be, and now you don’t wish to marry me.”

The ancient looked honestly surprised by the statement, and his jaw dropped a little as he looked up from his task.  He smiled and shook his head.  “That’s not it at all, my dear.  I still have every intention of wedding you, once we’ve got the money to purchase the rings and our clothing for the occasion.”

Grell sighed with relief and put a hand over his heart.  “Well don’t frighten a lady like that!  I already have my gown on order and ready for alterations.  I thought…I thought I was scaring you away.”

"Not possible," assured Undertaker.  He approached him and he put his arms around him, lowering his mouth to his for a brief, loving kiss.  "I’m not backing out of our vows, and you aren’t as difficult to live with as you think.  This is about the baby."

Grell put a hand over his tummy.  “What about her?”  He was convinced they were having a girl, by now.  Not that he’d be disappointed if it was a boy, but it was just a feeling he had.

Undertaker took his hands and guided him over to the table.  “Sit down, love.  There are some things you should know, and I can’t keep them from you in good conscience.”

Now suffering a sick feeling of an entirely different sort, Grell sank down in the chair, both hands now protectively covering his abdomen.  “Undy, you’re frightening me.”

The ancient shut his eyes in regret.  “That’s what I’ve been trying to avoid, but I’ve got to respect you enough to trust you’ll be strong enough to hear this.”

Grell felt his throat trying to close up as he watched his lover return his attention to making a fresh pot of tea for them.

~xox~

-To be continued   

 


	8. Chapter 8

Grell didn’t want to believe it, at first.  As his lover explained what he’d discovered in his research, Grell felt himself becoming detached.  This couldn’t be happening to him; it was happening to someone else.  Why would the Divine see fit to let him get pregnant, if he couldn’t even bring it to term?  Of course, all women asked themselves the same question when they lost a baby.  His beloved Madam Red had lost a baby once herself, and she hadn’t been able to conceive afterwards.  When the Undertaker finished explaining it all, he watched him with concern and waited for him to respond.

"Grell?  Say something, darlin’.  Tell me what you’re thinking."

Grell looked up from his cooling cup of tea.  “Is this my punishment?”

Undertaker frowned.  “Punishment for what?”

The redhead lowered his eyes again.  “For the things I’ve done.  For killing those women, and for killing Madam Red.  I…I thought I was so righteous, disposing of women that couldn’t appreciate the gift they’d been given.  I thought I was doing Angelina a favor by ending her life when she became so weak.”

He looked down at his belly and his vision blurred with tears.  He loved this baby completely.  “Did this happen to me because of that?  Did the Divine see fit to tease me with hope of something I never thought I’d have, just so it could take it away from me?  Undy…Undertaker…I…I don’t want to lose it!”

The ancient put aside his drink and went to him, kneeling before him to put a pale hand over the smaller one covering Grell’s stomach.  “And we can do everything we can to ensure that doesn’t happen.  Shinigami medicine has advanced quite a bit since the last known androgyne tried to reproduce, darlin’.  I’m plan to have a sit-down with your doctor and discuss my research with him…see what options are available to help you bring this nipper to term.”

Grell’s eyes flashed accusingly.  “Why did you wait so long to tell me?  I could have gone on maternity leave sooner and improved my chances, if I had only known!”

Undertaker grimaced and looked away.  “Because I knew you were doing deskwork, and I thought it would be safe enough for you to keep a sitting job for a while.  I also feared you would react just the way you’re reacting now, and that isn’t good for your blood pressure.  The best thing you can do for yourself and this baby is avoid stress, my dear.  I freely admit I should have said something earlier, but I was a scared old fool, trying to protect you.”

Feeling uncharitable and betrayed, Grell scooted his chair away and pushed Undertaker’s hand off.  “I’m so _angry_ with you right now! I am not a child that needs to be sheltered from everything!”

The ancient bowed his head.  “I know,” he murmured.  “I’m sorry, love.”  He looked up at him again, shaking his bangs out of his eyes.  “But you didn’t overwork yourself.  You stayed off your feet most of the time and you’ve been following the doctor’s orders since you first got the news.  If I thought for a moment that you needed to take your leave sooner, I’d have said so.  I didn’t because I trust you to know your limits, my dear.  You took that leave on your own, without any prompts from me to do it.”

Undertaker sighed.  “And like I said; I knew that this news would upset you.  Stress is bad for you and bad for the nipper.”

"So you thought it better to keep it to yourself and wait until I lose this child to say something?"  Grell stood up, his fair features flushed with outrage.  "How _dare_ you?  I would rather worry and be informed that I stand a good chance of losing it, than to be ignorant and suffer such a devastating loss with no chance to prepare myself!”

It was such an obvious and logical answer…and he knew he should have known better.  “I never claimed to think straight all the time, Grell.  Sometimes my old head doesn’t work right and I know I made a mistake.  Please, love…try to understand I didn’t mean any harm.”

Grell drew a shaken breath.  He loved this reaper so completely, but he couldn’t forgive this slight just yet.  He needed to think…needed to come to terms with the fact that he most likely would never get to hold his baby in his arms.  The dream of having a family with Undertaker began to shatter before his eyes, and he fought the tears that inevitably came.

"I need you to leave."

Undertaker frowned at him.  “Pardon?”

"I don’t want to be around you right now," explained Grell.  "I’m too bloody angry, and I don’t know what I may do to you if my temper gets the better of me.  Ancient or not, pregnancy or not, I may just hurt you."

The mortician bowed his head again, his pale lips pulling into an unhappy frown.  “Then I’ll lock up and go for a while.  Take some time to think about it and see if you can find it in your heart to forgive me.  Just know this old has-been finally felt like he’s still got a purpose in life, the day you came to his door.”

Undertaker took Grell’s hand an pressed a kiss on top of it before he could draw it away.  He stood up and sighed.  “I love you, my dear.  I’ll give you some space, but I won’t be far away.  I’ll settle into a hotel for the night and you can call me on my aether phone, if you need anything.”

He turned to go, leaving his miserable lover crying softly and rocking himself in his chair.  Grell nearly called him back.  As angry as he was with him, he didn’t really want to be alone right now.  He needed his Undy…but he also needed him to understand how serious a transgression this was.  Undertaker could be somewhat childish at times…a boy trapped in the body of an ancient.  He was a walking contradiction to himself—wise beyond common reckoning but immature as well.

Grell folded his arms over the table, pushed his forgotten tea away and lay his head down, sniffling and whimpering in his angst.

~xox~

"Mr. Knox."

Ronald’s brows shot up at the sound of the voice on the other line when he answered his phone.  “Uh, yeah?  Is this Undertaker?”

"It is, indeed."  The ancient sounded haggard.  Ronald could practically imagine his shoulders slumping as he spoke.  "I need a bit of a favor from you, lad."

The blond stepped into Grell’s office and he shut the door behind him for privacy.  His mentor had given him the key to make use of it as he wished, while he was away.  “What’s up, old man?”

"Well, I buggered up something awful," sighed the Undertaker.  "Grell is really brassed off at me right now and I’m spending the night in a hotel room."

Ronald’s nose crinkled.  “Uh-huh.  Well, Senpai gets annoyed with you a lot, and you two always work it out.  What happened this time?”

"I did something truly terrible."

Ronald’s thoughts immediately went to dark places.  “Did you _cheat_ on him?  Because if ya did—”

"Don’t be silly," scoffed the mortician.  "I haven’t looked at another person of either gender since your mentor and I got together, and how many people are lining up to jump ol’ Undertaker’s bones anyhow?"

The blond shrugged.  “Good point.  So what did you do and how do ya think I can help?”

"I only need you to check in on my lady for me," answered the older reaper.  "I’m going to honor his request for space, but he was very upset over the news I gave him and I worry he’ll get himself worked up into a state.  Just drop by after work and see if he’s all right.  I’ve tried to ring him to give him this number, but he hung up on me as soon as he heard my voice.  I’ll bet he could use a pick-me-up from a friend about now too, so be a dear and visit with him for a bit, would you?"

Ronald blew a sigh.  He was supposed to go to a party after work, and spending time with a cranky, pregnant redhead wasn’t his idea of fun.  It was his senpai though, and he knew Grell was prone to fainting spells since getting pregnant.  “Yeah, okay.  So what’d you do that was so awful, anyhow?”

Undertaker hesitated for a moment.  “I kept information to him that I discovered regarding pregnancy in androgynous reapers.  I didn’t want to upset him, you see…but apparently keeping it to myself was a cock-headed move.”

Ronald could have snickered at the word usage, but he was too concerned with the implications behind the confession.  “And what did ya find out that’s so awful?  Is the baby going to come out with two heads or something?”

The mortician sighed tiredly.  “Not as far as I know.  The problem is that the baby may not come out at all.  I’ve poured over documentation from the Shinigami Medical Society and it seems that not one androgyne has ever successfully carried a pregnancy to term.  Things have advanced substantially since the last known case, but there’s a high chance…”

He trailed off and cleared his throat.  “Our baby might not make it,” finished the ancient tightly.  “And I stupidly kept that tidbit from Grell until today.  Now he’s mad at me and he doesn’t want to see me.”

All thoughts of partying went out of Ronald’s mind, and his face fell.  “Aw, man…that’s…jeez, no wonder ya sound so bad.  It might be okay, though, right?  He could still bring it to term, couldn’t he?”

"Oh, absolutely," said Undertaker with cheer that was obviously forced.  "My Grell is stronger than most, and I think if anyone under his circumstances stands a chance of beating the odds, it’s him.  Still, he was quite shaken and I don’t want him to be alone.  Will you do this for us, Ronnie?  Will you check in on him and keep him company if he needs it?"

"Yeah…okay.  I don’t want Senpai to be alone after hearing news like that, either.  I’ll go there after I clock out and hang with him all night, if he needs it.  I’m glad you called me up about this."

Undertaker’s voice sounded considerably more relaxed as he breathed a sigh on the other line.  “Thank you, lad.  Talk me up to him while you’re at it, if you don’t mind.  I could use a bit of help getting back on his good side.”

"Pfft, hate to say it old geezer, but Grell’s gonna stay pissed until he’s good and ready to stop.  I’ll give it a try, though."

"That’s all I can ask.  Even if he doesn’t want to forgive me right away, please keep me informed."

Ronald’s heart went out to the eccentric mortician.  It seemed like the Undertaker was always landing in hot water with Grell and trying to make it up to him.  It had to take a lot of patience to stay so devoted to someone as demanding as Grell.  “I’ll let ya know.  Promise.”

~xox~

Grell’s eyes and nose were red from crying when he peered through the window to see who was ringing the shop bell.  Undertaker had turned the sign to read “closed” before he left, so nobody should be coming to make any drop-offs.  When he recognized the blond reaper standing outside, he perked up just a little and he unlocked the door.

"Ronnie!  What brings you here tonight?" he greeted, still dabbing at his eyes with his lacy handkerchief.  "Shouldn’t you be out on the town?  It _is_ the weekend, after all.”

The younger reaper stepped into the shop and he looked Grell up and down with a faintly worried expression on his youthful face.  “Ordinarily yeah, but I got a call from your man.  He’s worried sick about you, Senpai.”

Grell pursed his lips.  “Well, _good_!  He should be worried, after what he did to me!”

"Why don’t we talk about it?" suggested Ronald.  "I mean, he told me the skinny over the phone, but you could probably use an ear to vent to.  Shouldn’t hold it in, ya know?"

Grell sighed and gestured toward the back curtain.  “Be my guest.”

Ronald walked to the covered area leading to the living quarters and Grell re-locked the door, before following him.

~xox~

"Well go on," challenged Grell after explaining his side of the situation to Ronald.  "Tell me how unreasonable and pissy I’m being."

The boy shrugged and sipped the ale he’d been given.  “He should have told you.”

Grell blinked at him.  “Ronald…are you actually siding with me?”

"I’m not siding with anyone," corrected the blond, "but yeah, he should have told you as soon as he found out about the odds.  He shouldn’t have waited.  Still, the guy loves you, Senpai…I mean he _really_ loves you.  He made a dumb mistake but he was just trying not to worry you.”

Grell’s ire softened a little, his brows furrowing over wistful eyes.  “He _does_ really love me, doesn’t he?  You know, we weren’t going to tell anyone until we had it all planned out in full, but we intend to get married.”

Ron’s eyes widened.  “Whoa, really?  When?”

Grell patted his belly.  “Before I get too heavy to fit into a bridal gown, hopefully.  We discussed it the night I moved in, when we went out to dinner after you left.  He couldn’t afford an engagement ring after selling off so much to buy me that gorgeous dinner gown, but I don’t think I need one.”

Ronald gave him an accusing look.  “Wow…and you still kicked him out of his own place.  I’ve gotta side with _him_ over that.”

Grell bit his lip, coming close to drawing blood.  “I know I’m terrible.  I wanted you to be my best man.”

"Who says I still can’t?" chided Ronald.  "You’re not seriously thinking of dumping him, are ya?"

The thought hadn’t even crossed Grell’s mind, but he wondered if he could actually enter a marriage with a man that would keep such important information from him.  “I didn’t say that, Ronnie.  I just think that honesty is important in a relationship and I’m not certain I should take vows with him after—”

"Oh, bullshit."

Grell stared at the younger reaper.  “Excuse me?”

"You heard me."  Ronald finished off his ale and he sighed.  "You can’t tell me ya don’t want to marry him.  I think he’s figured out what a big mistake he made and he’s real sorry for it, so you should patch things up and get on with your plans."

Grell rotated his teacup on the table absently.  “How did he sound, when you spoke with him over the phone?”

"Miserable," answered the blond without hesitation.

Grell started to smile.  “Really?”

"Yeah, really.  Don’t look so happy about it, Senpai.  He screwed up and he wants to make it up to ya.  You don’t have to test his love.  It’s obvious he’s crazy about you, and you’re having a kid together."

Grell’s expression darkened.  “A kid that may not live to see the light of day.”

"Don’t give up on it yet."  Ronald shrugged.  "Okay, you could lose it, but does that mean you love its dad any less?  If the worst happens, you two are going to need each other.  One thing I always admired about you is that you never gave up.  Don’t change that now, Senpai.  Think of Alan and Eric.  It’s pretty much a sure thing Humphries is going to die, but they’re still chugging along and I don’t see Eric writing him off as dead already."

Mention of the tragic couple made Grell sniffle.  His hormones were being terrors today, amplifying his already churning emotions to the point of explosion.  He turned away and wiped at his eyes with his hanky as Ronald looked at him with concern.

"Shit, don’t cry," begged Ronald.  "I wasn’t trying to make you even sadder; I was just trying to make a point!  My point is ya can’t just give up because of bad odds.  You’re the one that taught me that, remember?"

Mortified by his lack of control, Grell nodded.  “I remember.  I’m sorry, Ronnie…it’s these dreadful hormones!”

Grell blew his nose with an unladylike trumpet of noise.

Ronald sighed and he fished his phone out of his pocket.  “Here.  Call him.  He’s the one you need right now, even if you’re mad at him.”

Grell looked at the device with teary, glistening eyes.  His stubborn need to cling to his anger was at war with his need for Undertaker.  Ronald waved the phone before him and grinned, waggling his eyebrows.  The redhead sighed and sniffed, before taking the phone from him.

"You truly are a tenacious brat, Ronald Knox."

~xox~

He heard the odd, chiming ring of his Shinigami phone going off, but he thought it was a dream at first.  Undertaker had splurged a bit on a bottle of brandy, and he’d over-imbibed.  With a bleary-eyed look through the tangle of hair hanging over his face, he lifted his head from the pillow and realized he wasn’t imagining the sound.

"Oh, right," he mumbled thickly, checking the clock.  He’d told Ronald to call him with any news on Grell.  Even in his half-inebriated state, he reached for the phone eagerly and unfolded it.  "Hullo, Mr. Knox."

"It isn’t Ronnie," said a beloved voice, sounding slightly sheepish.  "It’s your bitch of a lover."

"Grell?"  Undertaker jerked to attention and tried to sit up the rest of the way.  Unfortunately he misjudged his head’s proximity to the lampshade.  He uttered a foul curse as he bumped into it and knocked it off of the end-table, and he made a hasty grab for it before it could hit the floor.

"Undy?"  The redhead’s voice seemed uncertain.

"I’m here, love," assured the mortician, rapidly sobering in his excitement.  He righted the lamp and dragged his hair out of his eyes.  "Bit worse for th’ wear, but I’m here."

"Are you drunk?"

The ancient grimaced and burped into his hand.  “Not completely, m’dear.  Just a bit.  Still sober enough to talk.”

Grell sighed.  “I did this to you.  You only binge when you’re worried about me.”

Undertaker shrugged.  “I had a bit more self-control this time.  I only drank half the bottle.”

He thought he heard the redhead cover a laugh.  “Oh, what am I to do with you?  Undy, I want you to come home.  I…I’m sorry for being so cruel.  Ronnie’s talked some sense into me and I realize I’d rather have you here than sit and stew without you over your blunder.”

A smile split the ancient’s mouth.  “Really?  You’re not still angry with me, then?”

"I didn’t say that," corrected Grell, "but I miss you.  Besides, I think Ron wants to get out of here and go to his party.  It would hardly be fair for me to make him spend the night with a hormonal pregnant lady."

Undertaker chuckled.  “I s’pose not.”  He caressed the phone as if it were Grell’s face, still feeling somewhat sloshed.  “I’m sorry, my dear.  I’m an old fool and I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”

"You may be an old fool," agreed Grell, "but you’re _my_ old fool and I need you by my side.  Come home, darling.”

Undertaker heard clapping in the background, and he presumed it came from Knox.  He smirked.  “Seems your little friend is happy about—”

Grell suddenly said his name in a way that made the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end.  “U-Undy?  I don’t feel so…”

He then heard what sounded like a crash, followed by the sound of Ronald swearing his head off.  Undertaker stood up, his heart pounding heavily.  “Grell?  Grell, love…what’s going on?”

There was a clattering sound as Ronald picked up the phone.  “Sorry Undertaker-senpai, but I’ve got to hang up and call the doc.  Grell just collapsed!”

The mortician felt his body go cold.  “I’ll be right there, Ronald.  Just get him straight to the hospital, as soon as you can.”

~xox~

When Grell next awoke, it was to the feel of someone stroking his bangs back from his forehead.  He struggled to open his eyes, completely disoriented.  “Undertaker?” he whispered.

The hand retreated.  “I’m afraid not.”

With a frown, the redhead forced his eyes open and he blinked, trying to bring his vision into focus.  “Will?”

The blurred figure hovering over him gave a nod, and a pair of glasses were fitted carefully over his face.  “Yes.  I was working late when Knox phoned me and informed me of your collapse.  How…do you feel?”

Grell stared up at his supervisor as his handsome, troubled features came into focus.  He couldn’t decide what was more surprising to him; Will turning up or Will asking how he felt.  “Dizzy,” he confessed, “and a bit sick to the stomach.”

The brunet nodded and looked away.  “You were calling out for him.  According to Knox, he should be here any moment.”

Grell began to smile, and he impulsively reached for William’s hand.  “And you decided to stay with me until he arrives.  That’s very sweet, Will.”

William glanced down at the pale hand covering his own, but he didn’t recoil from the touch.  “Knox was quite panicked.  He began to hyperventilate—which is honestly ridiculous for one of our kind.  I instructed him to go to the lobby and wait for the Undertaker, while I remained here.  I must look our for my people, of course.”

Grell rolled his eyes.  “Of course.”  Getting William T. Spears to admit affection for anyone was like pulling teeth with a string.  “I supposed I had another fainting spell.”

William looked at the vitals monitor, his glasses reflecting the beeping lights.  “Your heart-rate was accelerated and your blood pressure dropped.  Your doctor administered medication to stabilize it and he intends to speak with you and your betrothed in private, once he arrives and you feel up to it.”

Grell’s brows knitted.  “Is…is my baby all right?”

William’s expression softened, ever so slightly.  He nodded.  “Look for yourself.  The fetal heartbeat is being monitored as well.  Dr. Francis has assured us that the baby suffered no undue strain when you collapsed.”

Grell squirmed onto his side as much as the attached monitors would allow, and he looked at the screen.  “That’s my baby’s heartbeat?” he said in wonder, pointing at the blipping line at the very bottom.

"It is."  William nodded.

Grell shut his eyes and rolled back onto his back.  “Oh, thank Styx!  Will…William…I learned something awful.  I may not be able to bring this child to term.”  He grimaced in pain, and a tear escaped his right eye to etch its way down the outer corner, leaving a damp trail along his temple.  “Apparently androgynous reapers like me have never been known to successfully bear children.”

"You are still pregnant, aren’t you?"

Grell opened his eyes again and he looked up at him.  “Well, yes.”

"And you’ve had no spotting or cramping?" pressed the brunet.

Grell shook his head.  “Not yet.”

William inclined his head in thought, steepling his fingertips.  “Then it stands to reason that you aren’t in immediate danger of miscarriage.  Expecting mothers sometimes suffer fainting spells, just as you have.  Try not to read too far into the future, Sutcliff.”

"But you said the doctor wants to speak with us," reasoned Grell.

"He wishes to speak with you about additional medication, to stabilize your blood pressure and control the fainting spells.  I pressed him for information, of course."  He adjusted his glasses, pushing them further up on his nose.  "He was reluctant to part with it, but as your supervisor I was able to convince him it was in his better interest to inform me of the most pertinent information, regarding my agent."

Grell started to grin in spite of himself.  William could make Hell itself freeze over with a mere glance of those cold eyes of his.  “What else did he tell you?”

"He intends to discuss eventual bed-rest," obliged William, "and that was all he would reveal to me…aside from the news that he’d briefly discussed something over the phone with your fiancé that he wished to speak with you both about.  That was the most I could coax from him."

It occurred to Grell that William had referred to Undertaker as his intended more than once.  “Ronnie must have told you.”

William nodded.  “About your plans to wed?  Yes.  I approve.”

Grell pouted.  “He should have run it by me, first.”

"Why?"  William looked at him, his expression unreadable once more.  "Your relationship with the Undertaker is not a dirty little secret, Grell Sutcliff.  You would be binding yourself to a living legend.  I believe you could do much worse."

Grell chuckled.  “Jealous, Willy?”

The brunet scoffed.  “Hardly.  I’m merely showing my support.”

At once, Grell felt guilty.  He’d known this reaper since they were fledglings, and yet he’d chosen his understudy to be his best man.  “If I thought you were at all interested, I would have chosen you as my best man,” he tried to explain.  “Ronnie is just more—”

"Appropriate for the role," finished William coolly.  "No need to explain.  Besides, a best man or bridesmaid is meant to say good things about whom they represent at a wedding.  I’m afraid my list of praises would be quite short."

"So cruel, Will."

The brunet smirked at him.  Whatever he might have said next was interrupted by the arrival of Undertaker.  The mortician came into the room in a flurry of black robes, with a nurse following closely behind, pleading with him.

"Sir, you have to _sign_ this!”

He turned on the woman, looming over her like a bat until she cowered.  “Young Miss, I’ll sign it later.  I’m here to see my lady and I don’t give a bloody damn about signatures right now.”

"Yes sir," she squeaked, and she left in a rush. 

Undertaker hurried to Grell’s side, gliding over the floor like a frantic ghost.  He practically shoved poor William away as he removed his top-hat and he took both of Grell’s chilled hands in his.  “So sorry for being late, my dear.  I had a spot of trouble with Shinigami security when I popped into the realm so suddenly.  Had to explain myself and they wanted to verify it before they’d let me come to you.”

"It’s…all right," Grell said, dazzled once more by that welcoming smile.  He looked at William as he returned the pressure of his lover’s hands.  "You didn’t need to run over him, you know."

William straightened up with dignity, brushing off his suit.  “Undertaker, sir,” he greeted with a nod of respect.  “Good of you to come.  Please excuse me.  I shall leave you to it.”

Undertaker watched him go, and he turned back to Grell with a shrug once the supervisor left.  “You see?  He didn’t mind.”

"You just don’t know William the way I do," answered the redhead, caressing Undertaker’s knuckles with his nails.  "He’s too polite and he respects you too much to take umbrage."

The mortician picked up Grell’s hands in his and he kissed the top of each of them.  “All I care about right now is you, darlin’.  How are you?”

"Tired," answered Grell, "but I feel much better, now that you are here.  Apparently the doctor wants to speak with us."

Undertaker nodded.  “He ought to be in shortly.  I’m sure they’ve let him know I’m here.”

"Then you’ve spoken with him about the other reapers like me?"

"Briefly," answered the mortician.  "He said he wants to look up some of those files for himself and he’ll talk to us about managing your dizzy spells better."

"That’s what Will said," sighed the crimson reaper.

Undertaker looked mildly intrigued.  “Mr. Spears?  What lot does he have in all this?”

Grell giggled.  “Supposedly he’s only looking after the interests of his agent, but I know he really cares, deep down inside.”

"Hmph."  The ancient made a face.  "Should I be jealous?"

"Not at all."  Grell pulled one of Undertaker’s hands to his lips, and he kissed the black nails one at a time.  "Will has never seen me the way you do.  I know that now.  He just has issues with showing affection of any sort.  Everything he’s done for me has been his way of letting me know he doesn’t dislike me after all.  He’s no threat to our love, my silver darling."

Undertaker relaxed and smiled.  “Good.  I’d hate to have to fight him for your hand, lovely, but I would do it if I had to.”

Grell giggled again, and he reached up to cup the back of his lover’s head to pull it down for a kiss.  “Such things you say,” he whispered before claiming the older reaper’s lips.

~xox~

"I haven’t had the opportunity to pull all of the information yet," explained Dr. Francis little over a half an hour later to the couple, "but I’ve gone over the ones you referenced, Mr. Undertaker.  I can see why it gave you cause for alarm, but Grell’s unique physiology is so rare.  I was unable to find anything more current than a century ago pertaining to this sort of medical case."

"Then do you think it will be all right?" demanded Grell, holding tightly to Undertaker’s hand.  The mortician had scooted the visitor’s chair close to his bed and he stroked his hair with his free hand as they conversed with the doctor.

"I believe if we can get the blood pressure issues under control and monitor the situation closely, you and your baby should be fine."  The doctor looked over the charts, a slight frown appearing on his lips.  "You aren’t going to like this, Mr. Stutcliff, but you may require bed-rest once we enter the third trimester…possibly even sooner."

"I don’t care," Grell insisted, shaking his head.  "Even if it bores me to tears, I’ll happily take bed-rest if it will give my daughter a better chance."

"Daughter?"  Dr. Francis briefly exchanged an amused look with the Undertaker.

"I feel it’s a girl," explained Grell solemnly, laying his hand over the slight swell of his abdomen.  "I cannot explain it, but I’m certain of it."

"Then we’d best start thinking of girl names," mused Undertaker with a smile.  "Think of any yet, my dear?"

"Ophelia," said Grell with an answering grin. 

"That’s lovely," stated Dr. Francis, "though I daresay it’s an ill-omened name to use."

Grell huffed and removed his hand from the Undertakers, crossing his arms over his chest.  “If this child lives to be birthed and take her first breath, she’s more than earned it.”

Undertaker nodded.  “Well said, love.”

The doctor shrugged.  “Ophelia it is.  Just in case though, you might want to consider a few boy names.”

"I have a woman’s intuition, sir," Grell said importantly, "and I know I’m not wrong.  However, if my darling husband-to-be wishes to make a list of boy names, that will be fine."

"Charley," said the Undertaker with a decisive nod.  "Or Charles.  If we happen to have a boy, I’d like him to be named after my favorite comedian."

Grell beamed up at him and took his hand.  “You are so clever.  I adore you, my love.”

Returning the happy smile, Undertaker bent over to give him a kiss.

"Ahem."  Dr. Francis cleared his throat to get their attention.  "Wonderful choices of names, there.  Grell, let’s discuss daily activity and decide on a reasonable exercise plan, shall we?  Like any other high-risk pregnancy, we need to formulate one that best suits your needs."

The redhead broke the kiss and he looked at his doctor attentively, taking the safety of his child quite seriously for such an impulsive reaper.  “Whatever you like, Doctor.”

They talked about it for roughly an hour, and Dr. Francis wrote out a slightly altered daily routine for Grell.  The redhead was dismayed when high-heeled shoes were put on the list of things to avoid, but he kept his complaints to a minimal.  Good circulation was a must, and the doctor approved when he learned that Undertaker was already massaging Grell’s feet every day. 

"Now, about the wedding," mused Dr. Francis.

Grell sat straight up in the bed, his crimson hair falling over his eyes in his haste.  “Please don’t tell me you wish us to call it off,” he begged, dismayed.

"Oh, nothing like that," said the doctor hastily.  "I just want to remind you to try and keep it short, simple and in a cool environment.  We can’t have you overheating, Grell.  I know you’ve always dreamed of a grand wedding, but—"

"I’m happy just exchanging vows and wearing my gown," interrupted the redhead with a sigh.  He looked at Undertaker, and his eyes softened as he smiled.  "Any lady would prefer to wed the man of her dreams, and that’s what I will be doing."

Undertaker beamed a smile in response, and he kissed Grell again. 

"Oh dear gods, you two are giving me cavities as we speak," grumbled the doctor.  "I shudder to think of what you’ll be like on your honeymoon."

The ancient began to chuckle into Grell’s mouth, and Grell found it infectious.  Dr. Francis shook his head with a little smile as the smitten couple hugged one another, both laughing softly with joy.

~xox~

-To be continued     


	9. Chapter 9

By the end of the week, the couple finally had enough saved to buy their wedding bands and make the arrangements.  It was a simple event that took place in one of the parks in the Shinigami realm.  Quite similar to human vows, the two reapers recited the words as instructed by the celebrant presiding over their wedding.  All of Grell’s friends from Dispatch were there, including William.  Some reapers from other departments attended as well out of sheer curiosity, but Grell was too excited and absorbed in his intended to care what they thought of it. 

Dressed in a gossamer and lace gown of white, with a string of pearls around his throat and ruby teardrop earrings, Grell smiled happily up at the man that would be his husband for the rest of their lives.  The ancient smiled back at him as he recited his pledge, reaching out to caress Grell’s cheek and tuck a spiral of crimson hair away that had come loose from the piled coils on his head.  Undertaker had purchased a new tuxedo for the event, because his one good suit was worn and he wanted to look nice for his bride.  Grell certainly approved.  He thought the mortician looked quite dashing, with his hair tied back in a ribbon like he’d worn it the night they went to dinner.  The Victorian-cut, black and white tuxedo molded to his tall form in all the right places, and Grell had every intention of unwrapping him from that suit like a birthday gift, once they made it to their honeymoon suite.

They completed their vows before they knew it, and Grell felt a bit dazed when the celebrant announced them as husband and wife.  "By the powers invested in me by the Divine and by Shinigami authorities, I now pronounce you legally wed.  You may kiss the bride.”

Undertaker just kept grinning at his lover.

"Ahem…sir," prompted the celebrant with a gentle nudge.  "You may kiss the bride, now."

The ancient gave a little start.  "Oh, right.  Sorry, wasn’t paying attention.”  He lowered his grinning mouth to Grell’s and embraced him, kissing him with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than was necessary.  Grell chuckled into the kiss, returning the caress of the taller reaper’s tongue.  The guests applauded, and when Undertaker finally broke the kiss, he knelt down to allow Grell to brace his foot against his leg.  He reached up beneath the bridal gown, looking up at the smiling redhead with a sensual little smirk as he eased the garter down off of Grell’s thigh.  He took his time with that too, stroking the length of his leg in a possessive manner as he slid the item off of it.  Undertaker stood up and he twirled the garter around his finger.

"All right, gents; let’s see who’s next."

He turned around and tossed the garter over his shoulder, and Grell clapped with delight and laughed when it landed right on top of William T. Spears’ head.  The other Dispatch agents laughed as well, and William plucked the garter off his head with dignity. 

"And who will be his bride?" Grell exclaimed, turning around to toss the bouquet. 

Ronald caught it.  By the look on the blond’s face, he hadn’t meant to…he just impulsively reached for it when it sailed close to him.  He looked a little embarrassed as the ladies from Human Resources glared at him in resentment for stealing the prize that should have been for one of them, but he shrugged and grinned sheepishly at William.

"Guess that means we’re getting married, Boss."

His quip evidently made the girls forgive him.  They giggled as William lifted an elegant brow.  "Over my dead body."

"Aw, come on," pressed Ronald, his grin going mischievous.  "I’ll even let you wear the pants.  I could probably pull off a gown, with Sutcliff Senpai’s help.”

"I’ll make you into a beautiful lady in no time, darling," promised Grell, delighting in William’s discomfort.

The Dispatch Supervisor adjusted his glasses, flushing a bit.  "Honestly."

~xox~

"You know," Undertaker said as he carried his new bride through the threshold of the honeymoon suite that Dispatch had thoughtfully paid for, "I think Chilly Willy might fancy Ronald a bit."

Grell snorted.  "That man will never fancy anyone.  I’ve decided his libido couldn’t survive in his sub-zero temperature and he killed it long ago.  Besides; Ronnie prefers the ladies.  He’s forever going on dates with the girls in Human Resources.  Even if he flirts outrageously, I doubt he would ever accept the advances of a man.”

"Never say never, my dear."  Undertaker set the redhead gently back on his feet, and he began to deftly pull Grell’s hair free of the pins holding its style.  "I’ve seduced more than one chap in my lifetime that swore he only liked the ladies."

Grell made a sour face.  "Must you bring up your past conquests on our wedding night?"

The mortician winced.  "Sorry, love.  That was tactless of me.  I just wanted to make a point and those days are ancient history.  I’ve got you now, and nobody could hold a candle to you.”

"Hmm, good recovery."  Grell reached up to loosen the taller reaper’s tie.  "Anyway, it would take William thawing out a bit, before he could even _attempt_ to charm the pants off of Ronnie.  Mmm, you smell so nice.”  Grell stood up on his tiptoes to nuzzle his husband’s neck, breathing in the scent of his cologne.

"I’m glad it doesn’t set off your nausea."  Undertaker combed his fingers through the loosened curls of red hair, smiling with pleasure at the feel of Grell’s lips against his throat. 

"I think most of that has passed by now," sighed Grell with some relief.  "I haven’t suffered morning sickness for a week, and I’m not so sensitive to smells any longer.  Do you think perhaps my pregnancy has gotten healthier, darling?”

"Could be.  You seem to have more energy since you started following the doctor’s new plan.”

Undertaker slipped one hand down to lay it over the subtle mound of Grell’s stomach.  They had married just in time, it seemed.  He was showing a bit more with each week, and had they waited any longer, they might not have been able to take the dress out enough for him to fit into it.  The mortician grinned.  In addition to the lovely glow that Grell’s skin seemed to have taken on, he’d become more sensitive in some areas.  Sometimes all it took to bring him to completion was some gentle nipple play. 

With that thought in mind, Undertaker dearly wanted to see his bride flushed and gasping with pleasure.  He lowered his head to kiss him, and he reached around to start unhooking the clasps of his dress.  "I think it’s time for us to consummate our marriage, love," he suggested against the soft, parted lips. 

Grell gasped softly when the ancient tugged one sleeve of his gown down over his shoulder and reached into the front of it to fondle a nipple.  His legs turned to jelly and he put his arms around the Undertaker’s neck for support.  "Take me, you fiend."

~xox~

 

Grell was already close to orgasm before they even made it to the bed, and that was just from Undertaker’s kisses and touches.  He removed Grell’s glasses, shoes and wedding gown, but he left the lacy white slip on, along with the matching panties, the hose and the garter belt.  He stopped the redhead when Grell tried to undress him completely, shaking his head and looking down at him with burning eyes. 

"Not just yet, darlin’.  If you get me naked there won’t be anything between me and you, and I want to please you a bit before I jump you.”

Grell sighed and relaxed against the satin sheets of the extravagant, king-sized bed they lay upon.  He smiled up at his husband and he toyed with the buttons on his vest.  "Can’t I at least remove this and open your shirt up?  I do so adore the sight of your chest.”

"I suppose there’s no harm in that."  Undertaker half-covered Grell’s body with his own, distributing his weight carefully so that it wasn’t resting on him fully.  He kissed the redhead’s throat, sliding his hand down the soft material of his slip in a sensual glide.  Grell blushed a bit when he began to push the material up to expose his belly, and he tried to tug it down again.  It seemed like he’d gotten rounder overnight, as soon as he passed the fourth month mark. 

"Don’t get shy on me now," advised the mortician gently, pushing Grell’s hand away before he could cover his belly again.  He kissed the exposed little mound, smiling against the skin.  "You’ve got no reason to hide it, love.  I think it’s darling.”

Grell stroked Undertaker’s long, soft hair as the ancient rested his cheek against his belly for a moment.  He loosened the ribbon holding his hair in a ponytail and he ran his fingers through it.  "Are you just saying that to make me feel desirable, Undy?"

The ancient lifted his head off Grell’s stomach and looked up the length of his body at him.  "You _are_ desirable, little rose.  I don’t need to pretend so.” 

With that said, he kissed his belly again, his tongue circling the navel that was slowly starting to turn from an “inny” to an “outty” as Grell’s abdomen expanded.  The action was quite sensual, and Grell’s breath caught a bit.  He gave a soft exclamation of surprised delight when the older reaper burrowed under his slip with both hands to fondle his nipples. 

"Oh, darling," sighed Grell, shutting his eyes and basking in the sensations.  It made his whole body tingle, and he undulated his hips to rub against him.  Undertaker’s lips meandered lower, pressing soft kisses over Grell’s hipbones as they neared the waist of his panties.  His teeth closed on the material and he tugged it down to expose the swell of his erection, still pleasuring the taut little buds of his nipples.

"U…Undy," whimpered Grell, his body singing with delight as the other reaper licked the shaft of his cock.  His back arched and his toes curled, swift cries of surprised gratification passing his lips.

"Already?" guessed the Undertaker, lifting his head to grin at him.  "I’ve barely even started, love."

Grell huffed unsteadily, feeling like he should make his lover work a bit harder for it.  "What…makes you believe I arrived, you smug thing?  I haven’t spilled myself.”

The confident grin didn’t fade, nor did his fingers top their delightful rubbing.  "No, but you wouldn’t if it’s your lady bits that are singing, pet."

The redhead groaned as the stimulation made his vaginal orgasm more intense.  He couldn’t keep up the act…it felt too bloody good.  He squirmed helplessly and he moaned.  "F-fine," he confessed, unable to pretend otherwise.  "Y-you…oh!"

Undertaker took the tip of his exposed male sex into his mouth and gave it a suck that had Grell’s eyes rolling back in his head.  Within moments, he was coming with both sets and grabbing fistfulls of sheets.  One of Undertaker’s hands left off its fondling of his nipple to slip into his panties and seek out his clenching female sex.  Grell tossed his head as the ancient began to rub his clit in little circles.  Undertaker had trimmed his nails for this night, and his middle finger eased into Grell’s feminine passage while the first one petted the sensitive little nub.  He swallowed the libation from Grell’s cock, and he gentled his sucking as its twitching slowed and stopped. 

The redhead was still coming hard with his female parts, and Undertaker managed to keep drawing it out with the motions of his tongue, lips and fingers.  When it finally eased up, Grell was trembling and panting helplessly.  He looked up at the ancient in a daze as Undertaker withdrew his loving attentions and stretched out on top of him, balancing his weight carefully on his elbows.  His silver hair fell around them both like a canopy, and he was smiling as he lowered his mouth to Grell’s for a tender kiss.

Tasting himself on his husband’s lips, Grell embraced him and returned the kiss, still breathing heavily and shivering a little.  "How do you…do that…so easily?" he asked when he could speak again.

"It’s not always that easy," reminded Undertaker with a chuckle.  "I’m just fortunate your darling nips are so sensitive, right now."

The redhead groaned a little.  His “nips”, as Undertaker so charmingly called them, had _always_ been more sensitive than average to stimulation.  Of course, now they were even more so.  Grell had to be careful about the materials he wore over them, because anything rougher than silk or satin tended to chafe them.  Undertaker had worked out how much attention he could give them before he caused Grell discomfort, and he was very good at it.

Grell sighed, the tension melting from his body in the afterglow.  "It seems a bit unfair to me that you can make me come so hard, so easily and I can’t do the same to you."  He stroked the silver hair out of Undertaker’s eyes as he spoke, admiring that sensual, lazy gaze.

"You make me come just fine, love."  The ancient kissed the tip of his nose, before rubbing his own against it.  "Trust me.  You’ve drained me dry plenty of times.”

"But I want to see you helpless with passion," insisted Grell, "the way you always make me."

The mortician laughed heartily, his stomach twitching against Grell’s with his mirth.  "Think I’ve got any sort of control when you’re milking me for every ounce of seed I’ve got?  Ah, darlin’…that’s hilarious.”

Grell swatted him on the butt, smiling a little.  "Don’t tease.  You really never give me the chance to love you as thoroughly as you love me.  I think that should be my bridal gift from you, my love.”

"Oh?"  Undertaker’s laughter faded and he gazed down at him with an intrigued little smile.  "Sounds more like I’d be the one getting a gift."

Grell stroked both hands over the Undertaker’s trouser-clad bottom, admiring the firmness he felt there.  "Your gift to me on our wedding night can be to lay pliant beneath me and let me tease and pleasure you until you’re begging for release.  I think that’s fair.”

"My, my…does my lady wish to tie up her groom?"

Grell bit his lip.  That was one act of loveplay they hadn’t yet tried in reverse.  "Would the groom object to that?"

"Not at all."  Undertaker lowered his head to murmur into Grell’s ear, his voice a seductive purr.  "I belong to you now, love.  Do with me as you wish.”

That simple invitation turned Grell on again instantly.  His heartbeat had just slowed down, but now it was pounding full-force again.  "Oh, you devilishly sexy reaper," he breathed, running his nails up and down Undertaker’s back to scratch lightly at the material.  He was half-tempted to request they trade roles, as well.  He hadn’t had Undertaker’s ass for some time now, but considering that it was their wedding night and Grell was the bride, he changed his mind.  He wanted his husband inside of him tonight.  They could do it the other way in the morning.

Grell slid his hands around to the front, to resume undressing his love.  He gazed up at him with hungry eyes as he got the vest and shirt open, exposing the pale, scarred splendor of his chest and stomach.  "Hmm, I do rather like you with your shirt left on and hanging open," mused the redhead.  Undy had his lingerie kinks—as was evident in the way he’d left Grell’s panties, stockings and slip on.  Grell could see no reason why he couldn’t enjoy a bit of clothing kink, too.

"If only you had those kinky, buckled boots of yours," sighed Grell with a smile, imagining fucking him with those on—and _only_ those.  "But having you in nothing but an opened shirt will suffice, tonight."  He met the older reaper’s eyes as he fumbled with his belt buckle.  "Will you be a good boy for me, my love?"

The mortician was grinning from ear to ear.  "For my lovely bride on our wedding night?  Indeed, I will.”  His breath caught as Grell palmed his package through the trousers, once he got his belt undone.  "That’s all yours too, of course."

Grell smirked.  "Of course.  Completely mine.”

He gave the bulge a familiar squeeze, delighting in the ancient’s soft grunt.  "These trousers must be uncomfortable for you, my love.  Why, there’s hardly room in them to contain your endowments, without chafing them.”  He gave said endowments another rub, smiling as those gorgeous eyes fluttered shut with pleasure.

"Perhaps you should free them from their confines then, my dear."  Undertaker’s voice came out as a husky murmur, and it grew more strained at the end of the sentence when Grell squeezed his cock through the pants again.  "Easy, love," he grunted. 

Grell gentled his touch, petting the beloved shaft soothingly.  "I’m sorry, my gentle Undertaker.  I would never intentionally harm your beautiful jewels.”

The ancient pinched his lips in an obvious effort not to laugh.  Feeling generous, Grell gave him a nod.  "You can laugh if you need to," he sighed.

A snicker immediately burst from Undertaker’s lips, and he bowed his head to rest it against Grell’s shoulder, his own shoulders quivering with mirth.  "Sorry," he snorted.  "Don’t want to ruin the mood for you, darlin’."

Grell stroked his hair with his free hand, smiling ruefully.  "I can forgive you, tonight.  I know my poetic drivel tickles you.”

Undertaker turned his head to kiss the redhead soundly on the cheek.  "I like it, honestly.  It’s precious.”  His amusement faded as Grell unbuttoned his trousers and reached in to fondle his erection.  His voice grew husky again, and he rocked into the touch.  "Of course, you have ways of making a man forget why he was laughing in the first place…"

It was Grell’s turn to be amused.  He lovingly stroked the velvety, stiff length of reaper manhood in his hand, and he grinned wickedly at the owner of it.  "Does my silver darling like it when I pet him, hmm?"

The gorgeous, white-lashed eyes drifted shut again and the Undertaker nodded.  "He does, indeed.  Mmm…you’ll have me purring soon.”

The redhead giggled softly.  "My very own kitty.  I think if you were a feline, you would be a gorgeous silver lynx…or perhaps a white leopard.”  He rose up enough to kiss those tempting, lean pectorals.  "You certainly would not be a common cat, darling.  It would have to be exotic.”

He circled the mortician’s left nipple with his tongue, and then he flicked the tip against it until it hardened.  He closed his lips around it to give it a tug, before releasing it and lying back again with a sultry smile.

"Teasing little minx," growled Undertaker.  He closed the distance for a kiss, but Grell stopped him, pushing at his chest with his free hand and shaking his head.

"Nuh-uh, darling.  I’m the one in charge tonight, remember?”    

Undertaker sighed in defeat.  "Yes, mistress."

Grell’s eyes widened.  At first he thought he was referring to him as a kept woman, but then he realized it was a term of submission.  His breath quickened again, his cheeks rapidly going rosy with passion.  "I _am_ your mistress, aren’t I?  You belong only to me, after all.”

A quiet smirk adorned the pale, sensual lips.  Undertaker opened his eyes again and gazed into Grell’s.  "Without a doubt, lovely mistress."  The lazy eyes winked down at him.

Enflamed by the playful sensuality of the act, Grell pushed against his chest again.  "On your back, kitty."

With a grin, Undertaker rolled off of him and obeyed.  He laced his fingers behind his head and lay compliantly on the bedding, looking far too desirable with his pants undone and his shirt hanging open.  Grell swallowed at the sight, his cock stirring and his loins moistening.  He rolled over as well and he crawled onto his supine, pale lover, running his hands over the hard ridges of lean muscles on his torso.  The scar tissue striping his body provided an interesting contrast to the soft skin; hard little lines in an otherwise perfect form.  Grell began to kiss them, squirming down on his husband’s form so that he could work on getting his pants off.  He realized with dismay that he still had his shoes on, so he paused his worshiping of his body to sit up and remove them. 

Undertaker watched him passively, his exposed erection visibly throbbing now and then as Grell removed his shoes and socks.  The redhead peeked through his lashes at his lover as he stroked his legs from thigh to ankle, before hooking his fingers through the belt loops of his trousers to pull them down.  The ancient obligingly lifted his hips a little to help, and Grell’s smile of intrigue returned when he had him nude but for the open shirt that he’d insisted remain on. 

"Now, my fine, ghostly love," he said in a seductive drone, "where shall I start?"  His eyes raked the mortician’s reclined body with unhidden lust. 

"Such a gorgeous example of Shinigami you are," sighed Grell.  He ran his nails over the parted thighs and he traced the grooves and bumps of the scars on them.  "I’ve changed my mind over what sort of kitty you are, Undy.  You are a white tiger, who’s earned his stripes.”

The mortician smiled.  "And are you the tiger tamer then, mistress?"

Grell nodded enthusiastically, quite enjoying the idea.  "Oh yes.  I have to keep such a dangerous animal in line, don’t I?”  He crawled forward a little and he straddled him.  "It’s a delicate matter, training wild beasts to submit to my commands.  Why, I could even be devoured if I’m not careful enough!”  Grell spread his fingers and put his hand over his heart dramatically.

Undertaker pinched his lips and cleared his throat, before speaking in a slightly uneven tone.  "You do look tasty."  His green-gold eyes lazily swept over the smaller reaper, bright with lust.

"Oh dear…I wouldn’t want to be eaten!"  Grell looked properly worried.  He looked around for a solution, and his gaze settled on the complimentary tray of fruits, cold meats and vegetables left by the staff.  "Be a good kitty and stay there.  To be a successful tiger tamer, I must be sure my captive kitty is properly fed.”

Undertaker purred and flicked his foot restlessly.

Thoroughly enjoying the unexpected scenario, Grell dismounted from him and went to the snack tray to select a few cuts of meat.  He carried them back and seated himself on his groom once more, smiling down at him.  "Perhaps a bit of ham, first.  Now be a good kitty, and don’t try to bite the hand that feeds you.”

Grell took a sliver of the smoked ham from his palm and he dangled it over his companion’s grinning mouth.  Undertaker parted his lips to accept it, his eyes remaining steady on the crimson reaper.  Grell patted him on the head and scratched him behind his right ear as he chewed and swallowed it.

"Good boy."

"Tiger tamers have to eat too," reminded Undertaker once he’d finished the morsel, his gaze drifting to the slight swell of Grell’s abdomen as a reminder that nutrition was important for the life growing inside of him. 

"Yes, darling," sighed the redhead, "after I’ve fed my tiger.  Don’t spoil the fun for me.”  It was so rare for Undertaker to go along with such games, without dissolving into peals of laughter.  He was making an admirable attempt to remain in character, and Grell really wanted to see how far he could go.

"I’ll do my best to keep up," promised the older reaper.  He winked.  "Mistress."

Grell smiled at him.  Oh, how he loved this man.  He fed him another morsel—this time choosing the honeyed turkey.  "Does kitty like this?"

He felt Undertaker’s cock twitch a little against his inner thigh as the mortician purred in acknowledgement.  Satisfied with the response and guessing that his love enjoyed the feel of him sitting on him as much as he enjoyed the snacks, Grell fed him some more.  He kept going until the last of it was gone, and then he got up again to wipe his hands off on the cloth napkins by the tray and have a few bites himself.  He could feel his husband’s hot gaze on him as he ate, and he cast a teasing look over his shoulder at him as he bit into an orange wedge.  Grell let the juice dribble down his chin, and he raised a fiery brow at the Undertaker.

"Is my kitty still hungry for more?" he inquired.  He reached down to rest his hand on his slip, and he purposely drew the hem up to expose his leg, all the way up to the thigh where the garter belt attached to the stockings adorning his legs.

Undertaker wiped his mouth hastily, his eyes following the sensual motions.  "Me-ow and then some, love."

Grell chuckled.  He finished off the orange slice and had a couple of strawberries, before returning to the bed to straddle his excited lover.  Throbbing both internally and externally with desire, he settled down on top of him and he slid his hands over his shoulders and chest.  "A tiger should have a proper collar," he announced softly.  He leaned over and reached for the discarded tie, grinning at his lover.  "But this should suffice.  Shall we fit you now, my pet?”

The ancient obligingly lifted his head off the pillow so that Grell could put the tie around his neck.  He watched him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he secured it, the smirk on his lips saying he was enjoying this game, too.  "Maybe the mistress could procure one for me with bones or skulls on it, sometime."

Grell raised a brow at him, unsure whether he was teasing or making a suggestion.  He stroked his chest with one hand and took the trailing end of the tie with the other.  "Would you like that, my silver kitty?  A proper collar of your very own, to don when I see fit?”

Undertaker purred and nodded, a promise in his eyes.

Grell blushed again.  Goodness, his man knew how to cater to his odd little quirks!  His sharp teeth displayed in a happy smile, and he planted his hands on either side of the older reaper’s head as he bent down to kiss him.  "I do so love you, sweet madman."

"Now who’s breaking character?"  Undertaker chuckled and kissed him back. 

Grell wasn’t offended.  He nibbled the ancient’s lips before sitting back up and splaying his hands over Undertaker’s chest for balance.  "It needed to be said."  He lifted one hand to begin sifting his fingers through the glossy strands of his lover’s long, soft hair.  "Now then; any good owner would see to it that her pet is well-groomed and taken care of, wouldn’t you agree?"

Undertaker turned his head and nuzzled Grell’s hand as it came close enough to do so.  He purred again with agreement.  Delighted that he seemed to be getting into his role more and more, Grell kept combing through his hair, using his nails to sort out the occasional tangle.  Undertaker’s eyes drifted shut with unfeigned pleasure.  Looking down at his sculpted, relaxed face, Grell felt like the luckiest lady in the world.  He gave him the simple pleasure of combing his hair for a while, before moving on to his body.  Pressing down with his fingertips, the redhead began to massage his shoulders and arms.

"I like to spoil a well-behaved kitty," he whispered, admiring the long, lean muscles that his fingers were prodding. 

A soft groan of appreciation issued from Undertaker’s parted lips, and Grell wished he’d thought to do this sort of thing more often.  Usually it was the ancient spoiling him rotten; he generally didn’t get the chance to do the same in return.  He felt a bit selfish, really…he’d never insisted on it so much, before tonight.  He’d been awful toward Undertaker so many times, yet the mortician chose not only to stay with him, but to marry him.  He massaged each arm to the fingertips, finding the thin barrier of the shirt easy to navigate through, and then he moved on to the chest and abdomen.  Unable to help himself, he bent down to start kissing the pearly-white flesh, tracing the scars with his tongue as if soothing an old hurt. 

He was still in awe of this reaper.  Each scar was a testament of how strong the Undertaker really was.  He’d never gone by any other name, save simply ‘Death’.  He’d lived through things that Grell could scarcely dream of, endured the contempt and belittling of both humans _and_ reapers, and he’d managed to give Grell the baby he’d always secretly wanted.  It didn’t bear thought to Grell that their child might not make it…not tonight.  Ronald had made an excellent point to him, the night Grell kicked his poor Undy out of his own home.  He’d fallen for this reaper because he saw and cherished him for who and what he was; not because he’d gotten him pregnant.  No matter what happened, he knew he’d have his Undertaker.

His kisses became semi-frantic, and he felt the ancient’s hand begin to stroke his hair.  He nearly admonished him for touching without permission, but he enjoyed the gentle act of affection too much to put a stop to it.  He teased a nipple with lips and tongue, drawing another purr of pleasure from his silver death god.  He trailed kisses down his chest and stomach, slowly making his way to the throbbing length of his arousal. 

"Grell," sighed the Undertaker when he daintily licked the bulbous, pink-flushed head of his cock.  He didn’t pull his hair or try to thrust into his mouth, though.  He lay compliantly, allowing the redhead to do as he wished until instructed otherwise.

"That’s ‘mistress Grell’ to you, darling," reminded the younger reaper with a grin.  He resumed his attentions, one hand slipping down to fondle the plump sack of his husband’s balls.  Undertaker’s breath caught, and the hand stroking Grell’s hair trembled slightly. 

"Mistress Grell," corrected the ancient tensely.  "Mercy, that feels wonderful."

Appreciating his uncommon docility, Grell did his best to reward him.  He slid his lips over the tip of the organ, sucking lightly at it.  He circled the silky knob with his tongue, tracing the small slit in the tip of it and drawing a drop of salty moisture from it.  He held back a grin as Undertaker’s breath caught again, his pale body going tense for a moment as he struggled not to move.  He _did_ warn his darling that he intended to have him begging for release, after all.  He had to be careful not to provoke so much sensation that he’d climax.  He wasn’t allowed to come until he was inside of Grell.

The redhead tested it a bit more, careful not to rake the sensitive flesh with his teeth as he took more of it into his mouth.  There was no way he could fit the entire length in without deep-throating it, and though most of his nausea had passed, he didn’t want to risk spoiling the encounter by gagging and retching all over him.  He began to bob his head slowly, sucking what he could take of the length in and out of his mouth to the tip.  Undertaker remained considerate, his breath hitching and quickening with each stroke, but his body remaining still for the most part. 

"Darlin’," growled the ancient, tossing his head.

Sensing that he was getting very close to orgasm, Grell let the twitching length of his erection slide out of his mouth, and he looked up at him from his position to admire the strained, sexy look on his face.  He stopped fondling his balls and he rolled aside to tug his panties down, wriggling his hips to aid the process.  Undertaker was panting, no longer stroking his hair.  He’d grabbed hold of the pillows that his head was resting upon and he looked as though he were ready to shred them to bits in his desperation.

Grell straddled him again, his naked genitals brushing against his husbands as he reached out to take his clenched hands.  Undertaker relaxed his hold on the pillows to allow the redhead to thread his fingers through him, and he peeked up at him through the pale bangs that had fallen over his eyes when he tossed his head.

"Please, Mistress Grell," he breathed, his handsome face sincerely desperate. 

Grell had never felt more powerful…nor had he ever felt so worshipped.  He smiled in a strained manner at the reaper he’d been tormenting, and he squeezed his hands as he rubbed his female parts against the long erection waiting to enter him.  "Please what, darling kitty?"

It took the mortician a moment to answer—probably because he was now almost entirely thinking with his cock.  He lifted his hips slightly to rub it against the temptation of Grell’s moist loins, his gaze flitting to the jutting arousal of the redhead’s male sex. 

"Take me inside you," he breathed.  "Make me yours, my dear."

Well, he’d asked for it.  Hearing it though…seeing it…Grell knew he wouldn’t last for long.  With a small cry of exuberance, he released one of his lover’s hands to reach down and grasp his shaft, lining it up with his female entrance. 

"Sweet, beautiful Death," gasped the redhead as he sank down on his husband’s cock.  He tilted his head back, his curled locks tickling his back as he reveled in the sensation.  He loved how it filled him inside, and he didn’t object when Undertaker gently pushed his hips upwards to drive himself more deeply in.  Grell took a slow breath and exhaled, once his husband was fully seated.  He lowered his head and he smiled at the ancient in satisfaction, shifting a little on top of him to massage himself inside with his length.

"It’s practically sinful, the way you make me feel."  He lifted up a little and sank back down, milking him.  The mortician’s groan of pleasure was like music to his ears, and he had to hold back a whimper of pleasure himself.  He released him again to the tip, before sheathing him fully once more.  It felt so bloody good that he couldn’t contain himself.  "Undy…oh, Undy!"

He was lost, then.  He’d had every intention of teasing the grinning bastard until he was crying out with need…but he needed this too much.  They hadn’t made love for a handful of days.  He began to undulate on top of him, helpless to stop his body’s desperate reactions to the feel of him.  Undertaker certainly wasn’t helping the situation with his skillful pelvic motions.  He bucked beneath him, making Grell cry out in ecstasy. 

"Can I…touch you now…lovely?"  The ancient’s request was breathy and laced with need.

"Yes, darling," panted Grell.  "Please…touch me!"

The mortician wasted no time, his hands gliding under the slip that Grell still wore.  He found the redhead’s nipples and he fondled them.  Grell moaned and started to bounce on top of him, helpless against the tide of pleasure washing through him.  He forgot all about their little roleplay scenario; absorbed in the feel of his love’s cock thrusting inside of him and the tingling pleasure of his touch.

"Take me, darling…ohhh!  _Ravish me_!”

The next thing he knew, he was flipped onto his back with his legs propped on his groom’s shirt-clad shoulders.  Grell looked up at the Undertaker with gasping, parted lips as the mortician squatted between his thighs and began taking him with firm, vigorous thrusts.  He started to come immediately; first in his loins, and then with his cock.  Both parts were pulsing and clenching hard, and he spurted all over his slip and Undertaker’s belly.  He couldn’t muster the wit for words, and he clutched at his husband’s pumping ass as he screamed with pleasure.

"Grell," moaned the Undertaker roughly, his hands gripping the fair, stocking-covered thighs.  He gasped and tensed, pushing deep inside of him and holding steady as he joined him in bliss.  His eyes shut and he licked his lips as he bucked inside of him, filling him with his release.  Trembling, he let go of Grell’s legs as it finished and he braced himself with both elbows on the mattress as he bowed over him.  He rubbed his sweating cheek against the panting redhead’s chuckling softly with relief.  Grell could feel his member throb inside of him a little in reaction to the laughter.

"Mm, that was a special treat," sighed Undertaker after catching his breath.  He kissed Grell’s temple, then his closed eyelids and nose.  "I meant that about the collar by the way, love.  If you want to have one special-made for me, I’ll be happy to comply.”

Grell’s mouth split into a shark-toothed grin of delight, and he opened his eyes to look up at him.  He reached up to stroke the ancient’s hair, loving him all the more.  "I would delight in having one custom designed for you, my love."

The ancient’s grinning mouth descended to his, sealing the agreement with a kiss.

~xox~

They made love thrice more that night, before finally having their fill of each other and going to sleep together in a tight embrace.  Undertaker had never felt more loved or accepted, and even in his sleep he caressed his wife’s back soothingly.  The next morning he was rudely awakened by the knocks of the hotel staff, and he patted Grell when the redhead stirred and grumbled.

"I’ll take care of that, my dear.  Go back to sleep.”

He smiled as Grell settled down and dragged a pillow over his head.  Sometime during the night, the slip had come off but the garter belt and stockings remained.  Undertaker took a moment to admire the sight of his pregnant, nude lover in nothing but said garments, before easing the covers back over him and kissing him on the cheek.  He rolled out of bed and looked around a bit, before spotting the complimentary robes hanging in the bathroom entrance.  He shrugged out of his wrinkled shirt and he went to put one of the robes on.

"Sorry for the disturbance, sir," greeted the Shinigami woman when he opened the door, "but I’ve been instructed to bring you and your wife breakfast."

Undertaker looked at the food cart she was wheeling, and his stomach growled.  "By all means, love…bring it in.  I’m afraid my bride and I didn’t partake much in the snacks you left for us last evening.”

He stepped aside and gestured for her to come in.  "Sorry for the waste."

"Oh, it’s no trouble," she assured with a smile.  She pushed the dining cart in and she took up the tray.  "We hope you enjoyed your suite, sir!  Check-out is at noon.”

He nodded, grinning as his spouse struggled into a sitting position and felt around for his glasses.  "You’re too kind, my dear.  We’ll be sure to check out in time.”

The woman left, and Undertaker locked the door before returning to the bed to have a seat and lift the covers from their breakfast.  "Smells good, doesn’t it love?"

Grell slapped a hand over his mouth, shook his head and jumped out of the bed.  Undertaker watched with a little frown as the redhead dove for the bathroom, and he sighed when he heard him retching.

"Seems the smell sensitivity and nausea hasn’t gone away completely, yet," mused the ancient.  He spoke in a louder voice so that his bride could hear him.  "Can I help you at all, lovely?"

"No," answered Grell’s miserable, hoarse voice between heaves, "Unless you want to trade stomachs with me!"

Undertaker grimaced and smirked at once, feeling bad that his love was going through this.  "Sorry, my dear.  Maybe some ginger water will settle your tummy, once you’ve finished.”

There was no response except for the sounds of further vomiting.  Undertaker slumped with the knowledge that Grell’s misery was half his fault.  His appetite diminished somewhat, and he got up to join his lover.  The least he could do was hold his hair back and offer a cool washcloth on the back of his neck.

~xox~

-To be continued 


	10. Chapter 10

Though they only got one night in the suite, their Honeymoon phase went on for over two more weeks before they settled down and managed to keep their hands off one another for longer than five minutes. Undertaker spoiled Grell rotten, catering to his every need and brushing off his cranky moments. The redhead nearly passed out twice during the second week, and Undertaker made him take bedrest. To make up for it, he brought him meals in bed and wheeled his phonograph into the bedroom to play music for him. The one thing he couldn’t offer that Grell sorely missed were the soaps he used to watch on TV. He could take Grell’s television out of the storage room and get power to it, but he couldn’t tune into Shinigami broadcasting and humans were still years away from the invention. Books and his own company were all he could give his love for entertainment.

"When you feel better, I’ll take you to a show," promised the mortician. "How would you like that, darlin’?"

Grell perked up a little. “Make it a romantic tragedy and I shall reward you most handsomely, darling.”

The mortician grinned. He normally preferred to stay in, but for Grell’s sake he would brave the night life of London, if only to please him. “You’ve got a deal, love.” He leaned over to kiss the crown of his head. “Now how about I draw us a warm bath before bedtime, hmm?” He laid his hand protectively over the growing mound of Grell’s belly. It had expanded further over the past two weeks.  He predicted that it wouldn’t be much longer before they could feel the baby moving.

"A bath would be wonderful," sighed Grell, laying a hand over his husband’s. "Pity I can’t take them as hot as I’d like, but I don’t want to cook our child."

The older reaper snickered softly. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable about that.” He gave him a kiss on the lips. “I’ll go and get the water flowing.”

Grell sighed and watched him go, smiling despite his miserable boredom at being consigned to bedrest. His silver prince was so very good to him. He hardly felt like he deserved him at times, and he thought he’d make an excellent father. He had his doubts about his own parenting abilities, but he believed Undertaker would take up his slack. The man had been reading baby books since he first learned he was going to be a father, and it made Grell’s heart swell with love for him.

"Who would have thought that I would one day have a family," mused the redhead to himself. Certainly not him, and certainly not with the Undertaker, of all people. How quickly his life had changed. Sometimes he felt a bit overwhelmed by it all, but his sweet madman was always there to comfort him and make him feel safe.

~xox~

"Mmm…Undy? Undy, wake up."

The mortician came awake with a little start, his mind immediately going on alert. He rolled over to face his spouse and he immediately put his hand over his abdomen. “S’it the baby?” he mumbled sleepily.

Grell shook his head and grinned at him. “No darling, the baby is fine.”

The mortician shut his eyes and smiled, dropping his head back to the pillow. He patted the rounded tummy and yawned. “Oh, good.”

"I’m hungry."

Undertaker opened his eyes, puzzled. “There are leftovers from last night in the cold box.”

He’d set up Grell’s refrigerator in the kitchen, to better preserve foodstuffs that otherwise would have spoiled if not used right away. The appliance also had Grell’s medicine in it to keep it fresh.

"But I want ice cream. Would you go and fetch me some from the market?"

The mortician’s brow furrowed, and he rolled over to peer at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s after two in the morning, lovely. I do know of a couple of parlors in London, but not a one of them would be open at this hour. Can’t it wait ‘till tomorrow?”

The ice cream cravings were fairly new. They started roundabout the time when Grell’s morning sickness came to an end, and he’d already eaten all the ice cream they had in the freezer portion of the cold box.

"The supermarket in the Shinigami realm will still be open," insisted Grell. "It is a twenty-four hour grocer."

Undertaker groaned softly into his pillow. “And you want me to go out right now and get it? Darlin’, couldn’t I just fetch you some cookies and milk to snack on?”

Grell pouted. “But…I want ice cream.”

The older reaper rolled back over to face him, his bangs completely covering his eyes. Grell batted his eyelashes at him and gave him his most engaging smile. “Please? For me? I’m carrying your baby, after all.”

Undertaker huffed, helpless to resist such a plea. He chuckled and shook his head, before leaning in for a kiss. “You’re too adorable to resist, pet. Very well…for you. I don’t want a cranky pregnant lady denied her favorite snack on my hands, anyway.”

Grinning in triumph, Grell kissed him back and ran his fingers through the pale silk of his thick tresses. “Thank you, my love. I know I’ll be able to sleep better once I’ve had some ice cream.”

"Or you’ll have another tummy ache," grunted Undertaker as he got out of bed and flicked on the bedside lamp for a little light. He glanced over his shoulder when he reached the wardrobe. "Try not to eat the whole bucket in one go this time, darlin’."

Grell slipped on his glasses and he admired his husband’s backside as Undertaker located a pair of pants and put them on. He sighed when the pale, firm ass was concealed as Undertaker pulled the trousers up and fastened them. He could almost skip the ice cream in favor of dragging that tall, beautiful body back into bed to ravish it…but his stomach rumbled and the craving nipped at him mercilessly.

"I promise to behave, as long as you bring back my favorite flavor," Grell said.

Undertaker nodded and pulled a long, button-up shirt on. “Cherry-vanilla swirl,” he recited, quite familiar by now with Grell’s tastes. “I’ll be sure to get some additional cherries for topping, too.”

Grell sighed happily and pulled the covers further up to his chin. “Thank you, darling. I promise to reward you handsomely after I’ve had my ice cream.”

The mortician glanced up from the task of buttoning his shirt and he smirked at him. “You’d better, cheeky little thing.”

~xox~

Everything seemed to be going fine, and one day a week later Grell was expecting Ronald to come and visit. Undertaker was out at the market, making purchases to accommodate Grell’s increasing food cravings. Grell was preparing a light lunch and refreshment for when his former student arrived, slowly rubbing his expanding belly beneath the red velvet, empire-waist gown he wore. He’d taken to dressing as a lady regularly, as it was the easiest way to get about London in his condition without raising some eyebrows. His long crimson hair was bound in a single braid down his back, with a scarlet ribbon woven into the twisted locks for accessorizing.

He left off rubbing his stomach and he touched the black, lacy ribbon around his throat, smiling softly to himself. Undertaker had given it to him as a gift just the night before. Dangling from the ribbon was a pendant in the shape of a perfect red rose. He said it reminded him of Grell immediately when he saw it in the boutique window, and he’d bought it on impulse even though Grell had warned him not to spend too much of his hard-earned cash on him. With his maternity leave benefits, Grell was taking care of the utility bills and baby things they needed, leaving only the groceries to Undertaker so that he could afford to restock his supplies.

But the stubborn old creep couldn’t seem to resist bringing him home gifts every time he went out to get something. Grell chuckled softly and finished putting together the sandwiches. He couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy all of the doting, but he still felt terrible that his love had sold off some of his own belongings just to set up the house for Grell to move in. He didn’t feel he deserved all these gifts, and he’d secretly arranged with Ronnie to track down some of the items Undertaker sold so that he could buy them back for him.

He heard the tinkle of the bell from the shop in the front, and he smiled and waddled out from the living section into the front. “Coming,” he called, seeing a familiar blond head on the other side of the window, peeking in. He couldn’t move very quickly anymore; his pregnancy had gotten cumbersome and he was due in another two months. He dreaded to think of how much bigger his stomach was going to get, but he still wasn’t quite as round as most women in his trimester.

Ronald grinned widely as Grell unlocked the door and opened it, his gaze traveling Grell’s feminine form. “Hey, hot mamma,” he greeted. He noticed Grell’s bare feet and his brows went up. “Wow…he’s literally keeping you barefoot and pregnant.”

Grell smacked him lightly on the arm. “I’m currently without slippers because my feet have been swelling, silly boy. My shoes feel too tight right now. Come in, come in!” He made up for his swat by bestowing a kiss on Ronald’s cheek as the blond stepped through the doorway.

"Why was the door locked?" asked Ron, glancing over his shoulder and shutting it behind him. "I thought Undy was keeping work steady to help support you."

"Oh, he is," assured Grell, "but it _is_ the weekend, and I made him promise to put work aside on Saturdays and Sundays for some quality Grell time. I need some attention too, you know.”

"And that must be a job by itself," teased the younger reaper. He dodged Grell’s next slap and locked the door behind him. "But seriously…is he able to keep up with everything?"

Grell sighed. “Yes, Ronnie; you can stop worrying about that. My darling sees to all my needs and then some. Look at what he brought home to me last night.” he patted the ribbon pendant and raised his chin to display his throat more. “Isn’t it lovely?”

Ronald looked and nodded. “It suits you. So where is the old fart, anyhow?”

"Out shopping for groceries," answered Grell, leading the way back to the curtain separating the shop from the home. He rubbed his belly again and smirked down at it. "I’ve developed an insatiable appetite for ice cream. The poor man goes out three times per week to buy more for me, because I go through it like mad."

"Careful with that," warned Ronald. He held the curtain aside for Grell. "It’ll all go to your hips."

"Funnily enough, I’m actually having some trouble keeping my weight up to an ideal level," sighed the crimson reaper. "I eat what the doctor tells me to eat and of course, I enjoy ice cream snacks in between, but I’m still considered a bit underweight for my stage of pregnancy."

Ronald’s teasing tone faded. “Yeah, I was about to say you don’t look like you’ve put on much, aside from the baby bump.” He suddenly grinned, watching as Grell took the lead into the kitchen area. “Man, I never thought I’d see you with a pregnant waddle. That’s cute.”

"Yes, yes…everyone adores seeing Grell Sutcliff so clumsy and awkward," grumbled the redhead. "Enjoy it while it lasts, pest. As soon as I’m finished with this ordeal and recover enough, I’ll be back in the office and I’ll repay you for every teasing remark you make."

"Aw, don’t be like that. It was s’posed to be a compliment."

Grell arched his back a little and rubbed the small of it, feeling the typical soreness creeping up on him. “If you want to compliment me, comment on how nice my hair looks, or how pretty my gown is. Reminding me of how ungraceful I’ve become doesn’t serve to cheer me, Ronald. So, what’s been going on in the office since I’ve been away? Any juicy gossip?”

The boy shrugged. “Nothing special. Humphries is in the hospital again, though.”

"Wonderful," sighed Grell, "Just what I needed; depressing news."

He frowned, feeling the ache grow stronger and spread from the back to the front. He leaned against the counter and he gestured at the serving plate of sandwich wedges on the table. “Help yourself, darling. I’ll just get the tea ready and—”

It hit him suddenly then, and he gasped and put a hand over his tightening abdomen. Ronald had taken one step toward the snacks on the table but he stopped at the sound of distress and turned. His eyes flicked to Grell’s stomach and widened as they settled on Grell’s tense, distracted face.

"Senpai?" he said it in the uncertain tone of a boy seeing his parent hurting.

Grell didn’t immediately answer. He was listening to his body, trying not to panic. It could be false contractions. What did Undy and the doctor call them? Braxton Hicks? Some mothers experienced it in the third trimester…but knowing how high risk his pregnancy was, he didn’t think he should take chances. Ronald’s next exclamation cinched it for him.

"Senpai…you’re bleeding!"

Grell felt the wetness dripping down his legs onto his foot, but he could no longer see his feet by simply looking down at them and he was afraid to try to lift one to investigate. “Call Dr. Francis,” he panted, sinking to his knees with one hand on the counter and one on his stomach as the pain worsened.

"Shouldn’t I call Undy?" asked Ronald nervously.

Grell shook his head. “No time. In fact, don’t bother calling anyone right now. Just…make a portal and get me to the Shinigami hospital, Ronnie!”

~xox~

Undertaker charged recklessly through the portal he’d created in the middle of the street, upon getting the phone call from Ronald. Arms laden with groceries, he knocked over some hapless reaper that was crossing by just as he entered the realm, and he ignored the man’s protest and the loss of the produce that fell out of his bags from the impact. Ridiculously, he didn’t let go of the groceries as he ran with all haste to the London division Shinigami hospital. His hat flew off and passing reapers ogled him, seeing little more than a blur of silver and black. He nearly got hit by a car and he leaped right over another one, losing more groceries on the way.

"Grell Sutcliff," he said to the medical receptionist once he made it into the lobby. He tapped his booted foot as she checked the records, wishing she’d move faster.

"He’s on the third floor in room 7-3," she finally said, "He’s been stabilized—"

Undertaker was already off and running again, taking the stairs in lieu of waiting for the elevators. He took the steps four at a time, bounding lightly with ghostly grace. That grace failed him once he reached the third floor and kicked the door open, however. He had a minor mishap with some monitoring equipment someone had left outside an empty room, crashing into it and sending it to the floor.

"Sorry about that," he announced breathlessly as medical personnel protested.

One of the nurses followed him into Grell’s room, chastising him the whole way. He ignored her. He came stumbling in with the groceries still clutched in his arms—or rather, what was left of them—and he came to a screeching halt at Grell’s bedside. Ronald was sitting in one of the visitor chairs and he looked up with surprise at the ancient.

"Wow, pretty fast for an old guy," he commented, checking his watch.

All that mattered to the Undertaker at the moment was the pale redhead lying in the bed, hooked up to a glucose bag and a pint of blood. He set the groceries on the floor and made to remove his hat—which was no longer there. “Grell, love,” he murmured, taking both his hands and kissing the top of them.

"Sir, you can’t be running like that in the hallways," chided the nurse that had followed him in.

"I’ll make a note of that," promised the mortician. "Right now, all I care about is my wife."

The nurse went quiet, her expression softening a bit.

Grell opened his eyes and looked up at his husband. A weak smile curved his lips. “There you are,” he whispered. “I knew…you’d come quickly.”

"Not quickly enough," said Undertaker with merciless self-depreciation. "I should have been there."

"You can’t…be there all the time, darling," said Grell forgivingly. "But Ronnie was there, thank death. The baby is…" he passed out.

Undertaker squeezed his hands helplessly, and he looked to Ronald. “What was he going to say, lad?”

"The kid’s still there," assured Ronald. "They gave Senpai a sedative to calm him down. He’s been drifting in and out ever since. Doc said he started to miscarry but they got to it in time."

Undertaker closed his eyes and dropped his head to Grell’s stomach, resting his cheek on it. He felt movement and a tremulous smile found its way on his lips. “Tough little tyke,” he whispered. “You just keep fighting for mummy and daddy, hear?”

He felt a subtle little kick against where his cheek was resting, and he chuckled. His heart was racing, and he felt a bit light-headed with relief. He raised his head off Grell’s tummy and looked down at the rumpled grocery bags on the floor. “Well, I lost most of the groceries, but the ice cream was on the bottom.” He looked up at the nurse. “Is there somewhere we could put it to keep it from melting? My rose loves ice cream most of all, and she would never forgive me for letting it go to waste.”

"Of course, Mr. Undertaker," said the nurse, having evidently figured out who he was and forgiven him for the upheaval he’d caused. She took the bags and left with them.

Undertaker straightened back up with a sigh, combing his fingers through his mussed hair. “I promised him I’d be right by his side if anything went amiss.”

"Hey, don’t do that to yourself," Ronald said seriously. "You <i> _are_ </i> right by his side.  I don’t even know how the hell you got here so fast. Seems like I’d just hung up the phone with you when you came crashing in here.”

The mortician shrugged. “Tried to portal straight to the hospital, but I was distracted and I ended up half a block away instead.” He looked at the blond and he offered him a smile. “You were there when I couldn’t be. You came through like a champ, love.”

Whatever reserves of stoicism Ronald had mustered up seemed to evaporate, and his hand trembled as he loosened his tie for air that as a reaper, he didn’t really require. “Are ya kidding me? I was scared out of my mind!”

The boy took a shuddering breath and got up, pacing. “Wh-when I saw the blood I thought…shit…”

Undertaker heard the little hitching sob he tried to muffle, and he circled around the bed to comfort him. “Here now, it’s all right, lad.”

Ronald impulsively threw his arms around the taller reaper and hugged him, betraying his vulnerability entirely. “I’d have never forgiven myself if somethin’ happened to senpai or the baby ‘cause I wasn’t fast enough to get ‘em here,” he sniffled.

Undertaker patted his back awkwardly, not sure what to make of this new side of the boy. He was used to Ronald’s mildly aggressive ways, used to him hinting that he had his eye on him because he wasn’t quite convinced he was good enough for his senpai. Now he was crying against his chest like a child seeking comfort.

It occurred to the mortician that a child was precisely what Ronald was…least in reaper years. Some Shinigami never made it through the harsh, vigorous training of becoming reaper agents—which was why Dispatch was so short-staffed. Not everyone was cut out to reap souls, and it took its toll on a lot of death gods; young and old alike. It was easy to forget his own anxiety over the situation when this fledgling of a reaper clearly needed the guidance of an elder.

"There, there," he soothed, feeling oddly paternal. "Your senpai is safe now and so is the baby. You did good, lad. Stiff upper lip; you don’t want any of those pretty nurses seeing you like this, do you?"

Ronald pulled away and wiped his eyes, sniffing as he shook his head. “No…no that would really suck. Ah, man…I’m sorry.” He visibly tried to compose himself, straightening his tie and his uniform.

Undertaker smiled at him. “Nothing to apologize about. Why don’t you go wash your face in the loo, while I have a moment with my wife?”

Ronald nodded, blinking. “Yeah…that’s a good idea. Be back in a minute.”

Undertaker waited until he left, and then he sat down on the edge of the bed and took Grell’s hand in his. “Sorry I wasn’t there, rose. I’m going to go and talk to your doctor as soon as your little friend composes himself, and we’ll see what’s going on.”

He smiled, the expression coming with a bit more difficulty than usual, and he bent over to place a soft kiss on Grell’s slack, parted lips.

~xox~

"I’m afraid he’ll need bed rest for the duration of his pregnancy, from now on," explained Dr. Francis when Undertaker came to his office. "While the bleeding wasn’t terribly severe, it could have gotten much worse if Mr. Knox hadn’t gotten him here so quickly to bring it back under control. A lot of women experience mild spotting during pregnancy so I wouldn’t worry too much about that, but any further bleeding like that will require immediate medical attention. I understand you have as great an understanding of anatomy as we do here, Undertaker, but I’ll remind you that our facilities are equipped much better for this, and your specialty isn’t exactly in prenatal care and childbirth."

"No arguments there," assured the mortician, spreading his hands. He sighed. "So that’s it then…complete bed rest. You wouldn’t happen to have any literature for expecting husbands on how to deal with irate, bed-ridden pregnant wives, would you?"

The doctor chuckled. “I can offer you some pamphlets on how to take care of a bed ridden wife, but how you deal with the blowup is up to you. Now, this isn’t to say that Grell can _never_ get out of the bed, you understand. Short exercise periods are good for him, but he can only lift things under a certain weight, he is to take showers rather than baths if possible, and he’s not to be on his feet for longer than ten minutes at a time.”

Undertaker nodded. “I understand. Any changes to his diet or medications?”

"I’m prescribing a Shinigami medication specifically for high-risk expecting mothers that have bleeding and premature contraction issues," explained the doctor. "Aside from that, keep him on the same diet and prenatal care, and please keep me updated at the end of each week on how he is doing."

The mortician smiled. “You really care about him, don’t you doctor?”

Dr. Francis shrugged and studied his paperwork. “I’ve known Grell since he was newly raised as a reaper. I care for him as much as a doctor can safely care for any of his patients.”

"Right." Undertaker could think of one way to keep Grell in bed, but he wasn’t sure it was a good plan of action. Never one to beat around the bush, he came out and asked about it. "What about lovemaking? He gets awfully cranky when he’s not getting that sort of attention."

The doctor smirked slightly. “Just avoid it until he’s recovered from this and suffers no further spotting, and avoid putting any weight on him. There are…er…certain things couples can do outside of intercourse that—”

"I know all about that," interrupted the Undertaker with a soft laugh. "No need to elaborate, chap."

His darling’s body was so sensitive in some places, he was sure he could satisfy him without penetration, until he was sure he wouldn’t hurt him or the baby.

"Good, then," sighed Dr. Francis with some relief. Clearly, he wasn’t comfortable with the current subject of discussion; though he was too professional to say so. "I would like to keep Grell here for at least another day, until we’re sure that the most recent threat has passed."

"Absolutely," agreed the mortician. "And I’ll see to it he behaves."

"Well and good then." Francis sighed. "Undertaker, I’m sure you already know that the odds are against him for success. You might want to look into possible grief counseling for both of you if—"

"Won’t be necessary, chap," insisted the mortician.

"But research suggests—"

"Research suggests other people’s situations," Undertaker interrupted again. "This is Grell, and this is me. If I have to stay by his side twenty-four hours a day when he leaves this facility, then that’s what I’ll do."

"How will you get groceries," demanded the doctor. "How will you conduct your business?"

Undertaker thought about it, tapping his bottom lip with a black fingernail. He grinned. “I suppose I’ll have to employ a bit of help.”

~xox~

"Ronnie, how do you feel about helping us out a bit for a while?"

The blond looked at Undertaker with slight surprise, glancing over at his sleeping senpai. “Well sure. What do ya need?”

Undertaker took the seat at the other side of Grell’s bed and crossed his legs. “It’s simple, really. Grocery duty.”

Ronald’s nose crinkled. “Eh?”

The mortician chuckled, endeared by the boy’s reactions. “Food. Household goods. Ice cream and lots of it. I’ve decided in light of the doctor’s prognosis that if Grell can’t leave the home, neither can I. We’ll need someone to bring us the things we can’t get ourselves.”

"Oh." Ronald scratched his head and looked down at Grell’s sleeping form. "Yeah, I get that. Sure, I’ll be happy to bring you groceries and stuff every week when I get off work, if it will help you out."

Undertaker nodded. “Thanks much, chap. I’ll give you the money for it so you don’t have to spend out of pocket.”

Ronnie shrugged. “Don’t mention it. I don’t even mind pitching in a little, if it will help keep this from happening again.”

Grell stirred in his hospital bed. “Mm…Undy? Darling?”

The older reaper took his hand and kissed it. “Right here, love.”

Grell smiled sleepily up at him. “I’m…sorry.” His crimson brows furrowed and he dropped his free hand over his belly. “Is the baby…still safe?”

"She is, darlin’," assured Undertaker. "She’s just fine. You just have to rest and stay off your feet. I’m afraid you’ll be stuck in bed for the rest of the pregnancy, except for brief moments."

Still drowsy from his meds, Grell sighed. “I thought so. It’s all right. I want to meet her.”

Undertaker kissed him on the forehead. “You will, my dear…you will. I’ll see to it.”

Grell smiled at him. “So sweet. My sweet, darling madman.”

He fell back to sleep, and the Undertaker chuckled and kissed him on the cheek. “Anything for my Grell,” he whispered.

~xox~

He was kept in the hospital for another day, and he had to get around in a wheelchair when he wanted to leave his bed. It was frustrating, but Grell coped with it for the sake of his unborn. When he found out that Alan was also hospitalized, he paid him a visit. Undertaker was out getting some things he’d requested for home, and Ronnie was at work, so Grell wheeled himself to Alan’s hospital room and he clumsily knocked on the door.

"Come in," came the weak call.

Biting his lip, the pregnant reaper pushed the door the rest of the way open with his foot and he rolled in to greet his associate. Alan lay pale and fragile in the bed, and Grell suddenly didn’t feel so bad about his own predicament.

"Hello, Alan," he announced as he reversed his chair and backed up to the bed. He smiled at him once he got himself aligned next to the bed, and he took the suffering brunet’s hand. "I heard you were in here, so I thought I would drop by to keep you company."

Alan returned the pressure of Grell’s squeezing hand and he gave him a wan smile, turning his head on the pillow to look at him. “Eric said you were here. How is the baby?”

Grell placed his free hand over his abdomen and looked down at it. “Fine now. Darling’s out gathering some things from the home that I requested. Where is Eric?”

"Doing the same." Alan chuckled softly. "We’re both very lucky to have such devoted partners."

Grell nodded and grinned. “Oh yes, we are.” He sobered a bit as he glanced at the monitors keeping track of Alan’s vitals. “How bad is it, dear?”

Alan lowered his gaze, his breath wheezing a bit. “Worse than usual, this time. I…had to make Eric leave. He was so upset, and he needed to get out of here for a while. My request for some things from the apartment was really just an excuse…but please don’t tell him I said that.”

Grell swallowed, his hormones making him more emotional than usual. “Can I do anything for you?”

Alan shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. “Just visit for a while. Your company is welcome.”

The crimson reaper felt like his heart was breaking. He knew Alan was dying…had prepared for it and accepted it…but he was such a nice fellow. “I’m so sorry.”

The ailing brunet turned his head on the pillow to look at him again, and he offered another little smile. “It’s okay. I plan to hang around for a while longer…at least until your child is born. I want…the chance to introduce myself and hold it.”

Grell nodded, squeezing his hand again. “You’d better be here. She must meet her ‘Uncle Al’ at least once.”

Alan chuckled. “Count on it, Grell. I’m so happy for you. Just try to take care of yourself, okay?”

Grell’s vision blurred with tears and he blinked rapidly. “I will, you sweet man. There should be more reapers like you.”

"Or not," argued Alan dryly, "else they’d all be infected by the Thorns. Dispatch would never get anywhere with a bunch of sentimental sods like me contracting this curse because we care too much."

Grell chuckled, appreciating the way Alan could make jokes even at such a tragic time. He sniffed and scooted his wheelchair a little closer so that he could lay his head on the mattress by the brunet’s side. “Silly creature. Why, you would have been first on my list as a godparent. This is bloody unfair.”

Alan freed his hand from Grell’s to stroke his hair soothingly. “It makes me happy just to hear that, my friend. I’m sorry I won’t be around to see her grow up.”

Grell began to weep in spite of himself. “S-sorry,” he mumbled, turning his face into the mattress. “I’m so b-blasted emotional right now.”

Alan smiled forgivingly and he kept stroking his hair. “It’s okay, Grell. You’ve had a scare. Just promise you won’t cry for me too long when I’m gone, okay? I don’t want people to be sad.”

That just made Grell cry harder, and he reached out and clutched at Alan’s hospital gown as if trying to hold him to this life. “Oh…unfair!”

"Shhh, it’s all right," soothed Alan tenderly. He kept stroking Grell’s hair and patting his back intermittently, comforting him as best he could as the redhead finally broke down over his impending death.

~xox~

Eric returned to Alan’s hospital room with a bag full of goods from their home, and he stopped himself in the process of greeting him. The brunet was asleep, and Grell Sutcliff was leaning forward on his wheelchair, his upper body resting on the hospital bed. One of Alan’s hands was resting still on Grell’s bright crimson head and the other was loosely holding his hand. The pregnant reaper appeared to have fallen asleep as well.

Eric smiled a little painfully and he quietly put his bag down before approaching. For lack of any other options, he removed his own blazer and gently draped it over Grell’s shoulders to keep him warm. He then walked softly around to the other side of Alan’s bed and he gazed down on him with love and admiration.

"Even when yer dyin’, ya try ta comfort others," he whispered. He bent over to kiss Alan’s forehead. "Saint Alan. If e’er a reaper deserved tha title, it’s you, love."

He caressed his partner’s pale, sleeping features before turning away and walking quietly out the door, loathe to disturb them. He saw the Undertaker wandering the halls as he closed the door behind him, and he signaled to him with a wave.

"If yer lookin’ fer yer wife, he…ah mean ‘she’…is in there wi’ Alan. They’re both asleep."

Undertaker’s albino features relaxed a bit. “Well thank goodness. Nobody could tell me where Grell wandered off to.” He looked at Eric with a faintly regretful expression. “Any improvement yet?”

Eric shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall and bending one leg to prop his foot against it. “None. I…I’m no’ sure he’ll make it out o’ here, this time.”

The ancient laid a hand over Eric’s shoulder in sympathy. “Never give up on him, lad. True, his days are numbered, but if you give up the fight than so will he, and the Thorns will take him from you that much faster. Give him a reason to stay for as long as he can.”

Eric rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “No’ sure ah want him ta linger in pain, jus’ fer my benefit.”

"But I’m sure he would take another day of pain over leaving you sooner," reasoned the Undertaker softly. "I know if I were in his position, I would cling to every moment to be with my Grell. Honor his suffering, Mr. Slingby. He stays for _you_.”

Eric nodded convulsively and took a deep breath. “Thank yeh, sir. I’ll…try.”

Undertaker patted his arm. “And that’s the best you can do for him. Come…let’s get a bit to eat while they rest. We can’t be much good to either of them if we faint from hunger, can we?” He offered a bright smile to the morose Scotsman.

"Aye," sighed Eric in agreement, and he allowed the older reaper to put a comforting arm around him and guide him down the hall. "Yer no’ such a bad fellow after all, Undertaker."

The mortician chuckled. “Don’t let my sympathy fool you, friend. I’m as bad as they come.”

~xox~

-To be continued  


	11. Chapter 11

Grell was released two days later, and Undertaker’s new prison sentence began. He jokingly told the hospital staff: “Well, I’m off with my ball and chain now,” as he lifted his wife from the wheelchair and carried him to the waiting coach. They’d have taken one of the modern automobile cabs, but for the fact that they’d be returning to the mortal realm where cars of such build were a long way from being invented. “Hopefully we won’t be seeing you folks for another two months!”

Grell of course didn’t appreciate it and he pinched the ancient until he yelped in dismay, making the nurses and Dr. Francis chuckle harder. A rather one-sided argument took place in the carriage as it drove off, with Grell chewing him out and Undertaker simply agreeing with him with the response: “Yes, love,” and “Sorry, m’dear”.

It was a certainty that the driver wasn’t sorry to see them go when they reached the other side and pulled up to the mortuary. Undertaker took out the folding wheelchair given to them by the hospital first, and then he lifted his spouse out bride-style to set him in it. He tipped the driver extra for putting up with them and waved him off, before unlocking the shop and wheeling Grell inside.

"I know you’re angry with me but you have to know I didn’t mean it, darlin," he said once they were inside and the door was shut and locked. He hung his hat up—which Eric had thankfully found and solicitously returned to him on the second day of Grell’s hospitalization—and he gave the fuming redhead a sheepish grin. "I’m a joker, after all. You knew that when we took the vows."

Grell crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, looking rather prissy and pretty with his freshly brushed hair spilling over his shoulders like a waterfall of blood. He was dressed in the same gown he’d worn to the hospital, and his feet were covered in a pair of matching slippers that Undertaker had retrieved from their home for him. “I know that, old fool. It’s simply hurtful when you joke about _me_ like that. I’m your wife, not some prison warden set out to spoil your fun.”

The mortician grimaced, and he went down on his knees before Grell and took his hands to kiss them, one at a time. “I know that, love. It was just a bit of fun.”

"Promise me you won’t come to resent me for this bed rest," pleaded Grell softly, his crimson brows furrowed with dismay. "After all, you volunteered to stay in the home with me. You could easily just hire a sitter to stay with me when you need to go out for something, or when you’re working if you’re afraid you might not hear me if you go downstairs."

"I’ve set up a bell system for that," assured the mortician. "Rather like what the Phantomhive house has set up for the servants. You’ve got a pull chord in our bedroom now, so if I’m in another part of the building and you need me, all you need to do is ring for me. See that bell hanging on the wall behind my desk over there?"

Grell looked and nodded. It was nearly identical to the servant bells in Ciel’s manor. Undertaker spread his hands and grinned, his long sleeves flopping. “See? Nothing to worry about, my dear. I’ve got one rigged up in the basement too so if I’m in my lab and you need me, I’ll know right away. Maybe later on I can get us some baby monitors from the other side, if you’d like. Didn’t think about that while you were in the hospital, but it’s certainly do-able.”

Grell’s ire visibly softened and he sighed. It was his turn to look somewhat sheepish. “You did all this while I was in the hospital? When did you find the time?”

"While you were resting." The mortician started to get to his feet, and he leaned in halfway to give the younger reaper a smooch before straightening back up. "I didn’t want to be away for you while you were awake, my dear."

"Gads, I’ve done it again, haven’t I?" Grell smirked and shook his head. "Chewed you out over something so minor. My poor, considerate darling."

The mortician shrugged and turned the wheelchair around to take him to the bedroom. “I knew I’d be in for that when I married you, just like you knew I have a deplorable funny-bone. I s’pose we’ll just have to put up with one another, eh?”

Grell turned his head and smiled up at him. “So it seems, my love. I believe I have the better bargain, honestly.”

"Of course you do." Undertaker winked down at him. "But like I said before; anything for my Grell."

~xox~

William came calling the next afternoon to check in on Grell. He’d been unable to visit while he was in the hospital, and this was the first opportunity he’d had. He found that the shop was open when he arrived, and he shifted his gift package in his arms to push it open. The Undertaker was at his desk, and he looked up when the bell over the door rang. A grin split his face and he put aside his pen.

"Ah, Mr. Spears. I was wondering when you’d come calling."

"Good afternoon," greeted the supervisor politely, nodding. He paused and he sniffed the air. "Is that…potpourri I smell?"

The ancient chuckled and nodded at the far edge of his desk. “Indeed. Lavender and rose. My dear Grell complained that my shop smells too musty, so I made some up to correct it. We’ve got it all through the home portion, too.”

"I see. Well, it’s delightful." William shifted uncomfortably as that hidden gaze stayed on him. His bravado from when he’d first learned of Grell’s condition had long since evaporated and the Undertaker was once again a source of rare intimidation for him. "May I see him? I…brought a care package, since I was unable to visit him in the hospital."

Undertaker nodded toward the thick curtains separating the living space from the shop. “Help yourself, gent. I think you’ll find him in the bedroom reading a book or listening to the phonograph, if he isn’t up rummaging through the cold box for a snack.”

"Should he be on his feet at all?" William’s lifted a brow in a mild show of concern.

"Doctor said he could be up and about for ten minutes at a time, ever hour or so. Grell knows his limitations and believe it or not, he’s keeping the schedule on his own quite nicely without me hovering over him."

"Ah, good. Well then, I shall show myself in."

William left the shop area and he found a second, new curtain blocking off the rest of the building from the area with the stairs leading to the basement. Curious about that, he pushed the thick red drapery aside to enter the parlor.

"Grell? I’ve come to…visit you," he called uncertainly. It felt odd to address the redhead so familiarly after years of insisting on formality between them. He saw Grell poke his head out from the archway leading into the kitchen.

"Will? Oh, how lovely! Come into the kitchen, darling. I’m only supposed to take so many steps per break."

William dutifully joined him in the kitchen, finding him in a pink silk kimono with red roses embroidered on it that looked rather fetching on him. The long red hair was pinned back on the sides with pink butterfly hair combs. He looked feminine and delicate, and it occurred to William that he might have mistaken him for a woman, had he not known him. He glanced down at his protruding belly, still finding it a bit shocking to see him in such a condition. “I brought you something,” he said, offering the gift bag awkwardly to him. “I would have brought it to you at the hospital, but work—”

"—Got in the way," finished Grell for him with a grin. "Thank you, Will. You really did not have to, but what lady in her right mind would turn down a gift from a handsome gentleman?"

"The married sort," answered William dryly. "I…hope it’s to your liking."

Grell opened the bag and his features softened. He pulled out a little brown, stuffed rabbit. It was wearing a little blue jacket.

"For the baby," explained William. "It’s Peter Rabbit. There is a child’s book that comes with it."

With an expression of delight, Grell set the bag on the counter and delved into it again for the hardback book. His brows raised as he opened the cover. “Will, however did you get your hands on this? It’s dated 1903! That’s over a decade away in the human world.”

"I have connections," answered the brunet evasively. He’d wanted to get something special for Grell…something nobody else could give him. It was his way of apologizing for how he’d treated him over the years, since he was simply dreadful at doing so in words.

Grell looked at him with his heart in his eyes, making him very uncomfortable. “You time-traveled. William T. Spears broke a major rule for _me_. Oh darling, this is priceless.”

"Not entirely," mumbled the brunet.

"What was that?" Grell tilted his head, smiling at him.

"It isn’t important," excused William. "Just do me the favor of keeping that book out of public view until this timeline reaches the appropriate date, would you? It is for you and your family alone, at least until such time as it comes into publication."

"Cross my heart," promised Grell, crossing the stuffed animal over his chest. He looked down at bunny in adoration. "He’s utterly adorable, with his little brass buttons. This is by far the most thoughtful gift anyone has given me, Will."

The brunet lowered his gaze and clasped his hands before his hips. “I found you deserving of it, with what you have endured. I was…relieved to hear that they corrected the situation in time.”

Grell chuckled. “Oh, he blushes. That’s sweet, darling. I’ll treasure Peter and his book, and I’ll be sure to raise my daughter to do the same.” He carefully replaced the gifts back into their bag to be put away later. “I was just about to treat myself to some ice cream. Would you like a scoop?”

William shook his head. “Thank you, no. I cannot stay for long.” He looked at him again, watching as he produced a bucket of his favorite frozen treat from the freezer. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Grell looked down at himself and a delicate, rosy blush spread over his fair cheeks. “Thank you, William. There was a time I might have jumped you for paying such a compliment to me.”

The brunet’s lips quirked. “Why do you think I waited until you were married and heavy with child to do so?”

Grell giggled. “You’re awful. Come here, I want to give you a kiss on the cheek.”

"That won’t be necessary," stated William hastily as the redhead set the ice cream aside and made his approach.

"Don’t be silly," chided Grell. "I kiss Ronnie on the cheek all the time."

He put his hands on Will’s shoulders and got on his tip-toes to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. He drew back and smiled up at him. “There, you see? No tongue.”

"Hope I’m not interrupting anything," said a familiar voice that sent a lance of dread down William’s spine.

The supervisor turned to face Grell’s husband, who had come in just in time to see the interaction. “Not at all, sir. Grell was just thanking me for the baby gift.”

He was amazed that his voice was so level, because to him that white-toothed smile on the ancient’s pallid face was more menacing than friendly. He cleared his throat and offered a little bow. “Now please excuse me; I must get back to work. Do me the kindness of keeping me updated, please.”

He passed by the mortician warily, like ships in the night. Undertaker’s veiled gaze followed him, that quietly warning smile still plastered to his face.

"Thanks for dropping by, chap."

"Indeed." William was almost through the archway when Grell called out to him.

"Will…where is your scythe? I believe this is the first time I’ve ever seen you without it."

"I needed my hands free for the gift bag," excused the brunet. "Good day to both of you."

~xox~

When his boss was gone and he heard the door in the front close, Grell turned on his husband. “Would you wipe that look off your face? You remind me of a wolf about to go in for the kill.”

"I was only smiling at him, love." But the older reaper’s smile softened to something significantly warmer as he looked at his wife.

"Codswallop," Grell huffed, using one of Undertaker’s favorite terms. He poked him in the chest with a manicured nail. "You have very expressive smiles, my love. You have your mad ones, your cheeky ones, your sheepish ones and the ones that tell me you’re about to ravish me…but _that_ was your predatory one. You never smile at Ronnie that way when I show him affection.”

"That’s because you never had a flame for Ronnie," answered the mortician, his smile again going menacing. "Can’t blame a fellow for being protective of his wife, can you?"

Grell sighed. “Darling, even if I were the sort of lady to betray her man—which I am _not_ —look at me.” He made an encompassing gesture with his hands over his swollen belly. “I’m quite obviously spoken for…carrying _your_ child. I am in no bloody condition to conduct an illicit affair with any man, and I assure you I don’t want to!”

The mortician’s sheepish smile returned. “Would it help if I said you aren’t the one I’m worried about?”

Grell sighed, finding it difficult to stay annoyed with him. He cupped his chin and squeezed it warningly. “I kissed William’s cheek—not the other way around. If the man were going to make advances on me, he would have done so before now. You must at least know that William is an honorable reaper. Give him credit for that, and stop being jealous.”

The mortician looked properly contrite. “I’ll try, darlin’.”

Grell sighed again and released his chin, reaching up to brush his bangs aside so that he could gaze into those stunning, silver-lashed eyes of his. “I must confess, a part of me is flattered that my man would be so…so territorial of me when he believes he might have a rival.”

So far, William seemed to be the only one he really worried about, and Grell did understand why. He smiled at the taller reaper, endeared as much as annoyed. The baby kicked and Grell gasped, grabbing Undertaker’s hand to place it over the swell of his abdomen. “Here, feel! She’s gotten active again.”

Undertaker spread his fingers and rested his hand on the mound for a feel, chuckling softly with delight as their unborn child kicked again. “She’s strong,” he murmured. “Might be a tad small for her development, but she’s a fighter, love.”

Grell rested his forehead against the taller reaper’s chest. “Thank goodness for that.”

~xox~

William returned to his office later on with a sigh. Sutcliff caused him no end of trouble, even when he didn’t try to. He felt utterly naked without his prized death scythe, and now he could finally appreciate how Grell must have felt when his was taken from him and replaced with scissors, for a time. The supervisor ruefully manifested the plain sickle he’d been given as a replacement, looking at it with barely veiled contempt.

"I certainly hope you enjoy your gift, Sutcliff."

~xox~

A couple of days later, a package arrived for Undertaker and his enthusiasm over getting it had Grell very curious. “What is it, darling?” He waddled into the parlor to see, having heard his husband’s excited exclamation.

Undertaker stopped in the process of unwrapping the parcel and he looked up at him from his crouched position with a little frown. “You aren’t supposed to be out of bed right now, my dear.”

Grell sighed, placing his hands on the swell of his tummy. “It’s barely ten steps from the bedroom to this room, and it’s been nearly an hour since I last got up. What’s in the package?”

"Hmph, stubborn thing," muttered the Undertaker. "Go back to bed and I’ll come in and show you in a minute."

Grell put his hands on his hips. “Why not just show me now?”

"Because it’s a surprise." The ancient grinned up at him. "And if you want it, you’d better scoot your fanny."

Grell’s eyes lit up. “Another present for moi? Darling, you’re spoiling me.”

Undertaker snorted. “We crossed that bridge long ago, darlin’. Now go hop into bed and let me get your surprise ready for you. Give me…oh…seven minutes. That ought to be enough.”

The redhead giggled. “Very well, you silver fox.”

He turned around and he looked over his shoulder at him, batting his eyelashes. “I’ll be waiting.”

He blew him a kiss and he left him there. He climbed into the bed and he tried to get comfortable. Ophelia was positioned in a way that was pressing mercilessly against his rib cage, making it hard to draw breath. He kneaded his stomach gently with his palms, coaxing the baby to move.

"Oh child, don’t be cruel to Mummy," sighed Grell. "She may not need to draw breath, but she would still like to be comfortable! Please find another spot, my darling."

After a bit more cajoling and shifting, the baby finally moved and Grell sighed in relief. “Thank you, my sweet. It won’t be too terribly long before you are born, and then I can have my comfort back and you won’t be so cramped and confined. Doesn’t that sound—”

Undertaker entered the room at that moment, and Grell’s eyes opened wide. “—lovely,” he finished breathlessly; but he was no longer referring to the impending birth.

He stared at his husband, and speech abandoned him completely. Undertaker stood before him in a pair of formfitting white tiger-striped pants, a matching bow-tie around his scarred throat and a pair of fluffy cat ears sitting on his head. Resting beneath the bow-tie was a black leather collar with silver skulls and spikes decorating it, and there appeared to be a tail sewn into the back of his pants, fuzzy and ringed with black and white like a real tiger’s tail. It swished behind him as he approached, bare-footed.

Undertaker looked down at himself as Grell ogled him with his mouth hanging open. “Had it custom tailored, and the collar custom-made. I know…silly, right?” He looked back up and he grinned at Grell, his cheeks softly pink with a hint of embarrassment. “After our games the night of our honeymoon, I thought you might…well, I saw it in a costume shop on the other side while out shopping and…Grell, I’m feeling a bit like a heel, dearest. Is it too much?”

Grell found himself unable to draw breath for different reasons, and his blush outdid Undertaker’s. He mutely shook his head and crooked a finger demandingly, adjusting his glasses as he looked him up and down. The pants appeared to be made of some stretchy material similar to the ones Undertaker usually wore under his layers of clothes.

"Aren’t you going to say something, love?" The mortician grinned as he obediently approached, and he took his hand out from behind his back and dangled something of black leather before him as he put one knee on the bed. "Comes with its own collar and everything. Mercy, is it hot in here?" He absently tugged on his collar and bowtie, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Grell began to giggle helplessly, and he found his breath when his husband looked a bit crestfallen. “N-no…Undy it’s perfect! I just…I wasn’t expecting…oh, come here, you sexy kitty. I adore it.”

Undertaker’s grin of relief made him giggle more. Undertaker climbed onto the bed with him and stretched out beside him, resting one bent leg across Grell’s thighs and propping himself up on one arm. Grell took the leash and clamped it onto the ring in his collar. “Mm-hmm, I do like this,” Grell said in a sultry tone, holding the leash in one hand and running his palm over the other reaper’s pale, scarred chest. “My sensual, silver tiger…all mine.”

He tugged on the leash demandingly, urging his spouse closer. “I should like a kiss now.”

Undertaker’s grinning mouth met his compliantly, and he gave him the kiss he desired and then some. There was something sweetly grateful in his kiss, and Grell knew that it must have taken a new sort of courage for his Undy to dress this way for him. He was a trickster with the heart of a clown, but even madmen like him had some limits. As his tongue delved into Grell’s mouth to make love to it, the redhead sighed and let his hands wander over the lean, alabaster body that he couldn’t fully enjoy until after the birth of their child.

"This is almost unfair," he complained breathlessly as Undertaker’s lips wandered from his mouth to his throat. "I feel somewhat teased, my love. I can’t mate with my pretty tiger as I’d like to."

True to form, Undertaker snickered softly at his choice of words. “Not to worry, m’dear. This outfit will be around after our nipper’s born, and there’ll be plenty of ‘mating’ opportunities then.”

Grell grabbed a handful of his soft, silver hair and forced his head to the side so that he could whisper a suggestion in his ear. Undertaker’s pale brows shot up beneath his bangs and he looked down at the redhead as he released his hair again, bemused. “They make things like that, do they?”

Grell nodded and giggled again, his body throbbing with desire at the thought of it. He walked his fingertips down his husband’s arm to his waist, settling his hand on his hip before curving it around back to give his ass a squeeze. “You only have to know the right places to buy them.”

Undertaker leered at him. “And I take it you’ve tried something like that before?”

"Don’t be ridiculous," scoffed the redhead. "I am a lady."

The older reaper laughed and nuzzled his cheek. “Then how do you know where to find them, love? How do you even know _about_ them?”

"There isn’t a rule that states a lady can’t peruse catalogs," Grell informed him cheekily.

That made Undertaker laugh again. “Oh, me…how am I ever going to survive, once you’ve recovered from childbirth?”

Grell nibbled his lower lip, his blush growing deeper. “You don’t have to, my love. It was just a suggestion inspired by this darling tail attached to your pants.” He played with said tail, stroking it suggestively. “You already indulge my odd fantasies so much.”

The ancient grinned. “And I’ll be happy to indulge them as much as you like, my dear.” He rubbed his nose against Grell’s. “I’ll be sure and let you know if a request is too much. You know I’m an adventurous chap.”

Grell sighed happily, rubbing his lover’s tight, firm bottom. “Make love to me,” he demanded, “at least, as much as you’re able to without risk.” He reached up and toyed with the soft ears crowning Undertaker’s head.

"As the mistress pleases," concurred the ancient, and he began to kiss his way down Grell’s body, whilst simultaneously lifting his dress to bare his legs. He squirmed down so that he could begin licking the smooth, pale limbs from ankle to thigh, pushing Grell’s legs apart and settling between them.

"That tickles," giggled the redhead when Undertaker’s attentions reached his knees.

The mortician grinned. “But your kitty is loving it.”

He made his way further up, the slow swipes of his tongue titillating. He pressed soft kisses against Grell’s skin as he went, and he pushed the dress further up to bare his panties and rounded tummy. Undertaker took a moment to plant a few soft kisses over the mound of his belly, his demeanor changing from sensual to tender for that moment, and then he pushed Grell’s thighs further apart and began to lick the inside of them.

Grell ran his fingers through his husband’s hair and shut his eyes, breath quickening as his attentions drew nearer to the source of his tension. Undertaker paused and sat back on his haunches to tug Grell’s lacy red panties down, urging him to bring his legs together again temporarily so that he could slide them off. Once the garment was tossed to the floor, he pushed the redhead’s thighs apart again and resumed where he’d left off.

"Undy," breathed Grell as the moist, warm tongue closed in on his loins. "Oh…darling!"

The ancient made a purring sound as he began to pleasure the expecting reaper in ways that nobody else had ever dared to. Grell bit his lip and grabbed the pillow under his head, arching his back and smiling with bliss. Yes…he was a very lucky lady.

~xox~

A few days later, Grell caught up on office gossip with Ronald after the blond dropped off some groceries for them after work. Undertaker was busy doing some renovations to the building while the two of them chatted, and they sat in the kitchen drinking tea after Ron put away the groceries.

"Spears-Senpai got in trouble for something," announced Ronald.

Grell paused with his teacup partway to his lips, and he raised an inquisitive brow. “Oh? What on earth could that coldly perfect man possibly have done to invoke the wrath of the establishment? His record is spotless!”

Ronald shook his head and shrugged. “Beats me. All I know is it must have been pretty bad, ‘cause they took away his death scythe.”

Grell nearly choked on his tea. “They _what_??”

Ron sipped his tea and nodded. “Ya heard me. They snatched it from him and they gave him one of those toy sickles we all start out with.”

Grell blinked in disbelief, and before he knew it, he started to laugh. “Oh! Oh William…this is _too_ funny! The…the king of propriety…the sultan of rules!”

Ronald grinned. “Thought you might like that.”

"Oh my," Grell said when he was able to catch his breath. He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "I can’t even imagine…you know I think he sleeps with that scythe. His bed must be getting terribly lonely at night."

"Probably," agreed Ronald with a chuckle. "He’s keeping it all hush-hush, but since everyone knows he usually has his scythe with him at all times, it’s not hard to figure out. I saw him moping over the replacement they’ve given him ‘till they give his old one back. That’s how I figured it out for sure. He hasn’t been demoted but he’s sure as heck been put on probation."

"I still don’t understand what he could have…could have…oh."

Grell then recalled the supervisor’s recent visit, and his amusement rapidly plummeted to be replaced by guilt. “Oh, William.”

Ronald frowned at him. “What’s up? Why are you making that face all the sudden?”

Grell sighed. “I think I know what he did to attract such negative attention from the authorities. Wait here while I fetch something from the bedroom.”

"Uh, you’re not s’posed to be moving around a lot," reminded Ronald, "or lifting anything."

"I haven’t gone over my prescribed numbers of steps I can take per exercise break," insisted Grell, "and what I’m retrieving doesn’t even weigh a pound, so don’t pester me and drink your tea."

"Yes ma’am," mumbled the blond, dutifully sipping his tea.

A moment later, Grell returned to the kitchen with a book and a stuffed rabbit. He waddled over to the table and sat down, taking a slow breath as he shifted into a comfortable position on the chair. “This is why he was put on probation—I’d bet my life on it. He brought them to me last week.”

Ronald stared at the items. “A stuffed animal and a book?”

Grell slid the book across the table to him and he opened the cover, tapping a painted nail beneath part of the text. “Look at the copyright date, Ronnie.”

Ronald looked. “1903? I don’t get it. Is it a fake or something? Doesn’t seem like a probation-worthy offense to me.”

"It isn’t a fake," explained Grell. "This book hasn’t yet come into print, darling. There is only one way dear William could have acquired this for me."

Ronald’s mouth fell open. “He time traveled just to get those for you?”

Grell nodded and relaxed in his chair. “I’m afraid so.”

Ronald ran his fingers through his hair and propped his elbows on the table, before resting his chin in his palms. “Daaaamn. Well, I guess if you’re gonna break a rule, might as well make it a big one.”

"I’m rather surprised they did not suspend him," sighed Grell.

Ronald shook his head. “Nope…couldn’t afford to. With you on maternity leave and Eric-Senpai busy taking care of partner in the hospital, they’ve got nobody reliable enough to fill in for him. It’s kind of too bad…he could have used the break from work.”

Grell nodded and lowered his eyes. “Poor Will…and all to bring me such a unique gift for the baby.” He laid a hand over his abdomen and sighed. What the man lacked in words, he more than made up for in actions. Well, it was his choice. There was nothing to be done for it, and at least the board had seen fit not to demote him. They’d have been fools for doing such a thing, considering it was William’s very first and only infraction.

Thinking about one of the primary reasons they’d chosen to put him on probation rather than suspend him, Grell’s sympathy turned to Alan…and to Eric. “How is Alan doing, dear?”

Ronald grimaced and looked into his tea. “It’s not good, Senpai. He’s still hanging in there and he swears he’d gonna be around when your kid comes, but I just dunno.”

Grell nodded, unsurprised. “And Eric…poor man…how is he holding up?” His pregnancy was making him more sympathetic than usual, but perhaps it was also his love of romance and tragedy inspiring part of it.

"I’m worried about him, to tell ya the truth," answered Ronald. His brow crinkled as he looked at Grell. "And those secretaries are all over him already. I can practically see them plotting over who’s going to be the first to ‘hit that’ when Alan’s gone, ya know?"

The redhead scowled. “How utterly disgusting. You know Ronnie, I have my faults when it comes to throwing myself at men, but I would never target a grieving widower. Well, Eric and Alan aren’t married but it’s the same thing!”

"Oh, I’m right there with ya," agreed Ronald empathetically, "and I know Slingby-Senpai is hot stuff and all, but the man isn’t interested in getting nooky from anyone right now, ‘cept maybe his partner…and Humphries-Senpai obviously isn’t in any condition to do that. They need to back off. I’m getting sick of it. Plus, Eric’s started drinking alone."

"Has he?" Grell frowned. "That really isn’t good. Have you tried to get him to come out with you, so that he at least has a companion to drink with?"

"Yeah, but he doesn’t want to leave the hospital except for short trips back and forth to the flat he shares with Alan." Ronald threaded his fingers behind his head and leaned back, looking at the ceiling. The sound of thumps and bangs came from the attic, and he glanced at Grell with a grimace. "What’s he doing up there, anyhow?"

The redhead smirked. “The beginnings of a third room. Darling intends to eventually add another story to this building. He’s up there moving around my things that we had no room for down here, so that he can plan where the stairs will be.”

"Wow. Old guy’s really getting into this family business," Ronald approved with a grin. "I’m glad."

He looked at his watch and he raised a brow at Grell. “It’s been fifteen minutes, Senpai.”

Grell huffed and grumbled. “So? I’m only sitting here. What harm is there in that?”

"Hey, you’ve managed to make it further than any other androgyn in this pregnancy, from what I hear," Ronald admonished, "so don’t risk that record, okay? I don’t think I can handle another episode like that last time."

Grell sighed. “Oh, fine.” He gathered up the bunny and the book that came with it. “Come and tuck me in, darling?”

Ronald shrugged. “Sure. Just so you stay there and rest.”

~xox~

The next day, William received a bottle of his favorite cologne and a “Thank you” note from Grell. It was delivered to his office whilst he was in the middle of going over monthly collection figures, and a hint of a smile graced his lips. He didn’t know if Grell was aware of what that silly book and rabbit had cost him, but this eased the sting a bit. He briefly wondered if the crimson reaper’s husband knew he’d sent it, and he rather hoped that he didn’t. In all honesty, Grell was probably the closest thing he had to an old friend—irritating though he could be at times.

In his heart of hearts, William truly hoped that he and the baby would both make it through.

~xox~

They only had three weeks left to go before the due date, when Grell suffered another episode of prenatal distress.

"U-Undy?"

Grell sat up in the middle of the night, gasping. His stomach was hard and tense, and pain was ripping through him from back to front. His spouse didn’t immediately respond, being exhausted from both trade work and building renovations the day before.

Grell shook him urgently. “D-darling…wake up. The…baby…”

Undertaker awoke in a storm of confused worry. He rolled onto his side and put a hand out to lay it over the two Grell had clutching his abdomen. “Contractions?” he inquired, struggling into a sitting position. His hair was a sleep-mussed tangle of silver, completely covering his eyes.

Grell nodded and sucked in a couple of sharp breaths. “Yes. It’s…like it was before when…”

He trailed off with a moan as the pain worsened, and his legs moved restlessly beneath the sheets as he began to rock back and forth in an effort to manage the discomfort. “I’m scared.”

"It’s going to be all right, love," Undertaker soothed, putting a supportive arm around him. "Just breathe as the doctor showed you. I’ll ring for a Shinigami ambulance and—"

"No, just get me there," demanded Grell. He clutched at Undertaker’s hair, looking at him with pain-filled, frightened eyes. "Please, Undy. Please don’t let me lose her!"

The mortician shook his head. “Never. Just try to stay calm, Kitten. You need to let me up so I can conjure the portal, all right?”

Grell nodded convulsively, tears forming and spilling down his face as he tried to breathe through the pain. Undertaker squirmed out of bed and concentrated, hoping to Styx that this time, the portal would form where intended instead of a block away. Once it was opened, he carefully scooped his wife up into his arms and stepped through, unmindful of his state of dress. At least his lady was wearing a nightie—which was more than he could say for himself.

~xox~

There was quite a ruckus when Legendary Death showed up at the steps of the London Dispatch Hospital stark naked, with his moaning spouse in his arms. Fortunately his hair was long enough to hide most of his backside from view, and his groin was concealed by the panting redhead in his arms. He ran up the steps, calling out for medical attention as staff and visitors coming and going jumped aside with shocked exclamations.

"My wife is having contractions and it’s three weeks early," he said to the medical receptionist in a rush, once he made it into the lobby.

"I need her name and the name of her doctor sir," answered the receptionist, easily presuming that Grell was female.

"Sutcliff," answered the mortician. "Grell Sutcliff. His doctor is…er…" He couldn’t recall the man’s name.

The receptionist shot a confused look at him and then she blushed upon realizing he was nude. “Um, just a moment,” she said, busying herself with the computer. “Oh, I see. That would be Dr. Francis.”

"Undy…" moaned Grell, squirming fitfully in his arms.

"Shh, it’s all right, darlin’," assured the mortician. To the receptionist, he said: "That’s the man. Now tell me where to take my spouse, miss. I don’t have the time to jaw with you. See if someone can bring me a gown or something myself, too. I’m feeling a bit of a draft."

"Y-yes sir," she squeaked.

Undertaker carried Grell over to one of the sitting lounges nearby and he rocked him in his arms, stroking his vivid hair back from his sweating forehead. “Won’t be long, my dear. They’ll take good care of you. I’ll see to that.”

It felt like an eternity passed before the big elevator doors opened to admit a group of medical staff laden with monitoring equipment and a hospital transport bed. Undertaker whistled at them and pointed at his spouse with his free hand. He felt wetness against his thighs and Grell’s nightgown got drenched, and he realized that Grell’s water had broken.

"Darling," panted Grell, "this baby is coming! I can…feel it!  Ahh…Undy!”

Undertaker took his reaching hand as the medical staff rushed over with the bed. “I’m right here, love. Just breathe.”

He felt like a helpless idiot, unable to do more than offer a supporting hand and coach Grell to breathe. He couldn’t fathom how other fathers managed to sit and chat and smoke cigars and drink brandy while their wives labored to bring their sons and daughters into the world. Then again, most human men in the current time period married for convenience and weren’t utterly in love with their partners, the way Undertaker was. It was too soon, but not terribly so as he’d feared. Three weeks premature was a far sight better than two months, and with any luck the baby would be born alive and not have to be put in an incubator to remain that way.

"Sir, we need to transfer the patient to the bed," announced a male nurse. "Can you lift him and ease him onto here, or do you need our help?"

"I can do it," assured the Undertaker. "Might want to have that gown handy though."

"R-right here," announced one of the female nurses, avoiding looking directly at him as she held up the hospital gown he’d requested. "You can put it on as soon as you’ve placed your spouse on the bed, Mr. Undertaker."

Recognizing her from the last time he’d been there, the mortician gave a nervous grin. “Seems I’m not making much of an impression on you, my dear.” She was the same nurse that had followed him into Grell’s hospital room, chastising him for running in the hospital.

She giggled behind her hand and shook her head. “Under the circumstances, I think I can forgive you.”

~xox~

They got Grell into a birthing room and administered pain medication prescribed by Dr. Francis. Though Undertaker worried that the medication might harm the baby, he didn’t want Grell suffering more than he had to. He stayed by his side and stroked his hair, speaking softly to him and telling jokes between contractions to try and distract him from the pain and fear.

"You need to try and relax between contractions, love," encouraged the mortician, gazing into his dilated green-on-yellow eyes. "The baby feels your distress, and you’ll jostle her about if you tense up too much when you don’t need to."

"Won’t she…suffocate…without the amni…um…the fluids?"

Undertaker forced a smile. “Amniotic fluids,” he corrected gently, “and no, babies get their oxygen straight as you please from the mother’s blood stream, through the umbilical cord. The breaths they take in the womb are for practice, remember? Besides, she’s a reaper baby. She’ll take her first breath when she comes out, but oxygen isn’t required for her to live.”

He put his hand over Grell’s stomach and it came as a relief when he felt their daughter squirming under his hand. She was alive. Their daughter had a good chance of actually being born _alive_. He lowered his face to Grell’s perspiring brow and planted a kiss there. “Love you, my dear.”

Grell responded with a weak smile of his own. “I love you too, madman. Please, just let—”

His eyes went blank and his body began to tense.

"Grell?" Undertaker squeezed his suddenly twitching hands. "Grell?! Oh no…don’t do this, love…not now…"

He was going into seizures. His eyes rolled back into his head and he began to buck in the bed, the vitals monitor beeping like crazy. “Nurse!” shouted the mortician, afraid to leave Grell’s side even for a moment. “My wife is seizing! Get your carcasses in here and fix it!”

~xox~

William got the news and he ended up with another mark against him when he told the board to sod off and left Headquarters to be at the hospital. Ronald blew off the rest of his reaping assignments for the day when news got to him, and both of them arrived at almost precisely the same time.

"Uh, Senpai," greeted Ronald when William stepped into the passenger elevator with him.

"I won’t be lecturing you for slacking today," assured William evenly, and he reached out to press the button of the floor they needed. "Some things are more important than work."

Ronald stared at him in amazement as the elevator doors closed, and he shook himself out of it when the taller reaper glanced at him. He leaned back against the elevator support rails and he watched his supervisor a little warily. “So how did you manage to get away from the meetings, sir?”

William adjusted his glasses and watched the indicator over the doors coolly. “I told them I had somewhere to be, and I left.” He glanced sidelong at the boy. “I don’t suppose you bothered informing anyone you were on your way here?”

Ronald scratched his head. “Well, not exactly. I’m kind of supposed to still be out reaping…”

The supervisor smirked. “As I said; some things are more important than work.”

The elevator stopped at the maternity floor and the pair stepped out. William looked around to get his bearings, and then he went to the nurse station to inquire about Grell, with Ronald following closely behind him.

"Oh, Mr. Sutcliff is in surgery right now," informed the nurse. "You can find his husband in waiting room 4-C, Mr. Spears."

William and Ronald glanced at each other. “What is Sutcliff’s current condition?” asked the brunet.

The nurse gave him a helpless, apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry sir, but I’m not allowed to discuss that with anyone.”

Ronald started to protest, but William grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along down the hallway. “Fair enough,” he said to the nurse in parting. To Ronald, he murmured: “Let’s just ask the Undertaker, shall we?”

"Oh, right," agreed Ronald, relaxing.

They meandered around the hallways until they found the small waiting room, where the Undertaker stood pacing back and forth in a borrowed set of scrubs and pants.

"Hey," greeted Ronald. "Nice look."

The mortician stopped and glanced down at himself, smirking dully. “They had me in a gown but it opened in the back, and I was giving people a peep show…so they gave me these instead. A bit short in the legs, but not too bad.”

William approached solemnly. “How are Grell and the baby?”

Undertaker sighed and took a seat in one of the chairs. “They have to do a c-section. Wouldn’t let me stay with him during the procedure. He was seizing up and they had to put this bit in his mouth…rather like a horse’s bit, or what they fit into the mouths of patients getting shock therapy. You ordinarily wouldn’t do that for someone that’s seizing, but with his teeth…he was tearing his own lips and tongue up.”

"Holy shit," lamented Ronald, sitting down beside him. "Did they get the seizures to stop?"

Undertaker nodded. “They waited until it ended before putting him under.” He combed his bangs back and he looked up at William, and for the first time, the supervisor thought he looked…haggard. Ordinarily timeless in appearance and smooth of face, the Undertaker bore a frown of stress on his usually smiling mouth and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Anything you might be able to do to get me in there to be at his side, chap? I know he’s oblivious to the world right now, but…"

"It’s your wife and child," finished William for him, guessing where he was going.

Undertaker nodded. “They had security escort me out here and they threatened to have me arrested if I kept causing a stink. I promised Grell I’d not leave his side, though. How can I keep that promise, if they won’t let me be in the room?”

"Probably afraid you’ll tell them how to do their jobs," suggested Ronald. "Hell, you might even be better at it, since it’s surgery."

"I imagine they don’t want the distraction," agreed William, "nor do they want you reaping them all, should things go badly."

"Please don’t even suggest it," sighed the mortician.

William hesitated for a moment, before giving a decisive nod. “I’ll see what I can do about setting up an observation room for you, at the very least. I can’t interfere with hospital policies concerning loved ones being present during a surgical procedure, but I may be able to arrange for you to watch from a separate room. Would that suffice, sir?”

Undertaker nodded. “As long as I can see what’s happening, lad. Thank you.”

~xox~

-To be continued


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's note: Please excuse errors I missed when editing this. Things have been busy and I'm sure there are mistakes I failed to correct._

* * *

 

William managed to procure the use of the observation room for Undertaker, and the ancient stood pacing at the window as the doctors worked over his spouse. He was terribly anxious. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d worried so much over anything. It seemed they had stabilized Grell, but the baby was still in immediate danger of dying before she could even be born. With aching eyes, he watched every move the doctors made.

The door opened to admit William T. Spears, and Undertaker barely spared him a glance as he walked into the observation room to join him. “They seem to have everything well under control,” said the brunet as he came up beside the anxiously expecting father. “May I fetch you something, sir? A drink? A snack, perhaps?”

Undertaker shook his head. “I can’t even think of food or drink at a time like this, but thanks.”

He tore his eyes off the surgery happening in the operating room and he looked at William. “If you’d like to keep me company for a bit though, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

The supervisor inclined his head gracefully. “Of course.”

Undertaker could have thought of plenty of other reapers he’d rather have at his side besides the seemingly cold, humorless brunet, but it was still nice to have someone at his side. “Thank you, lad.”

William nodded again, his gaze on the redhead in the surgery room. “Of course, sir.”

~xox~

Ronald fell asleep in the chair while waiting, and he jerked awake and wiped drool from his lips when someone shook him. “Wake up, Ronald Knox.”

The blond mumbled to himself and looked up at his boss, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Oh…hey Senpai,” he yawned. Remembering where he was and why, he perked up. “How’s Sutcliff-Senpai doing?”

"They have completed the procedure," answered William. His gaze softened with something that might have been a smile, on another reaper. "I am happy to announce that it was a success. The child was born alive and though under weight, she is healthy and resting in the newborn ward. Grell has been returned to his hospital room and he is waking up now, if you would like to visit him."

Ronald breathed a sigh of relief. “Aw man, that’s great!” He got up a bit too enthusiastically, and he suffered a head rush for his troubles. He unceremoniously grabbed William’s arm to steady himself as he waited for the dizzy spell to pass. “How’s the old man doing? He didn’t bust into the room and mess with the doctors, did he?”

William shook his head. “The Undertaker conducted himself with dignity, despite his anxiety. He is with Grell now.”

"Good. I was kind of worried about that." Ron covered his mouth on another yawn. "Let’s go see them. I want to see the kid, too!"

William cracked a subtle smile. “Of course.”

~xox~

Grell’s brow furrowed as he struggled out of the drug-induced haze. “Undy?”

A long hand covered his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Right here, love.”

The redhead blinked sleepily and turned his head on the pillow, looking over at the ancient reaper seated beside his bed. “Baby?” He ran his free hand over his sore abdomen, wincing. “Did…did she make it?”

A bright smile lit up the mortician’s pale features. “Indeed she did, my dear. Ophelia Angelina Sutcliff is alive and well…and she’s waiting to meet her mother, when you feel up to it.”

A tear escaped Grell’s right eye, and he sniffed. “Oh…oh darling, really? You aren’t just putting me on?”

"Now, why would I fib about something like that?" demanded the Undertaker softly. "She’s my daughter too. Even _my_ sense of humor isn’t that depraved.”

"I’m sorry," whispered Grell. "I was just so afraid to hope…so prepared to grieve."

Undertaker gave his hand another squeeze and he got up to bend over him and kiss him softly on the forehead. “I know, darlin’. I was prepared for the same thing. Thanks to your stubbornness and Dr. Francis’ determination, she lived. Want me to—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before the door opened and William strode in with Ronald at his heels. “Pardon the interruption,” said the brunet cordially. “I do hope this is not a bad time.”

"Will," sighed Grell with a little smile. "Ronnie."

"Not at all, gents," Undertaker assured them both with a smile. "The wife is just now getting her bearings. You’re both more than welcome."

"Hey, Senpai," greeted Ronald with a relieved smile as he circled around the other side of Grell’s bed and took his other hand. "Ya look kind of wrung out."

Grell sighed with annoyance and he withdrew his other hand from his husband’s to weakly slap at Ronald. “You try going into labor and getting sliced open, brat. You won’t look much better, I assure you.”

Ronald laughed and tossed a wink at the Undertaker. “Still enough fight left in him to sass me. That’s good.”

The mortician joined his soft laughter and he stroked Grell’s mussed hair fondly. “Thank Styx for that. I think that passion of his is what saved our daughter, in the end.”

"I must agree," said William. "I believe this may be the first time a birthing of this nature has been carried out successfully. Well done, Sutcliff."

Grell beamed at him. “Praise from you? What a novel experience.” He reached for Undertaker’s hand and looked up at him with his heart in his eyes. “But I have my handsome darling to thank, as well. Undy took very good care of me throughout this ordeal.”

The mortician lifted Grell’s hand to his pale lips and planted a kiss on the knuckles. “Wasn’t going to let anything happen to my lady or the nipper, if I could help it.”

Grell sighed, relaxing in the bed. “I want to see her. I…need to hold her to know that she’s real. I feel as though I’m in a dream.”

"Right away, lovely," agreed the Undertaker.

~xox~

A short while later, a nurse wheeled in a hospital cradle with their tiny daughter in it. Ronald watched with wide eyes as the miniscule infant was gently lifted and placed on her mother’s chest. He’d seen babies before, but never a newborn and never one so small.

"Holy…she’s so tiny! Should she be in an incubator or something?"

The nurse smiled at him, her gaze traveling over him briefly with subtle interest. “The doctor considered it, but it’s best to let the child be unless it becomes necessary, sir. Small she is, but she’s a little fighter.”

"Like her mother," chuckled Undertaker, watching as Grell stared at the tiny being they had created together in awe. He gently stroked the down of fluffy crimson hair on Ophelia’s head. "She favors you in coloring, my dear. For that, I’m rather thankful."

"But she has your eyes," sighed Grell with a smile, tracing the baby’s bowed lips and soft, chubby cheek. "Oh goodness…she’ll have the boys all over her when she grows up!"

Ophelia curled her little hand over her mother’s finger, squeezing tight. Soft, inquisitive baby coos issued from her mouth, and her dual-irised gaze stared back at Grell with curiosity.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," said Undertaker seriously. "The boys won’t so much a get one foot in the door without being put under the magnifying lens. Nobody dates my muffin without my approval."

Ronald chuckled and winked at the nurse. “I feel a little sorry for her future boyfriends. I don’t think I’d want to be in their shoes.”

"Nothing is too good for my little angel," Grell announced with a sharp smile, "and I for one am glad she has a protective Papa. Hello, little darling. I’m so happy to see you."

The baby gurgled and squirmed a little on his chest, as if in approval.

~xox~

"Al? Can ya hear me, love?" Eric squeezed his lover’s hand gently as he hovered over him.

Alan slowly opened his eyes to look up at him, and he gave a weak little nod. They had him on oxygen, odd as it was. Though he biologically didn’t require it, the doctors assured that it would keep him alive a bit longer. It helped his heart to continue beating despite the thorns digging into it.

Eric took a deep, shuddering breath. His partner by all rights should have passed by now, but Alan had used the last of his vocal capabilities to plead with them to give him more time, once he learned that Grell was giving birth. He tried to speak, but the tube down his throat prevented it. He reached for the digital pad he’d been given for communication, releasing Eric’s hand to scrawl a message onto it with the attached stylus.

_"See baby?"_ he inquired, turning the pad toward the Scotsman.

Eric forced a smile and he nodded. “Grell an’ tha Undertaker ought ta be here wi’ her soon. Sit tight an reserve yer strength, a’right?”

Alan nodded again, and he drew a little heart on the pad. Eric lowered his mouth to his clammy forehead and kissed it. No sooner did he reassure his partner that they were coming with the baby than the door was opened by a male nurse, and Undertaker wheeled his recovering wife in with the newborn carefully cradled in Grell’s arms. The mortician smiled at them both and pushed Grell over to the bed.

"How are you holding up, chap?" he asked Alan.

The brunet managed a fragile smile and gave him a thumbs-up in response, before settling his gaze on the child in Grell’s arms. The redhead obligingly offered his daughter to Eric, and Undertaker shifted a little nervously as the Scotsman took her into his arms.

"M-mind her head now," cautioned Undertaker.

Eric smirked at him, handling Ophelia with confidence. “Relax, old man. I’ve held wee bairns a’fore an’ I know how ta hold ‘em. Look, Al…isn’t she a beauty? Ophelia, this is yer Uncle Alan. He love’s babies.”

Alan reached out a pale, trembling hand to tenderly stroke the infant’s head, and a tear escaped his left eye, then his right. His eyes met Grell’s and he smiled at him, nodding. He was too weak to hold the child himself, but he clearly found her presence comforting.

Grell sniffed and blinked, looking away. “I kept thinking of you when they put me under for surgery, you know,” he confessed to the brunet. “Thinking of how strong you’ve been…how stubborn. You never gave up and you kept living your life, even when you knew it was going to be ended by the Thorns. Alan…I…think your example was what gave me the strength not to give in to despair…not to give up hope. Thank you.”

Alan gave him another trembling smile and a slight, humble nod of acknowledgement. Even without the ability to speak for himself, the language of his eyes and motions conveyed his thoughts. He looked up at Eric and he deleted his previous message on his digital pad, before scrawling another message.

_"Guard her. For me. Always."_

Eric’s vision blurred and he blinked away tears. “Tha’s a promise. I know ye’ll be watchin’ o’er her too, _Mo gradh_.”

He took another trembling breath and he smiled a little brokenly at the baby, before carefully handing her back over to her mother. “Thank yeh both fer bringin’ her ta meet her uncle Al. He’s been hangin’ on jus’ fer her.”

Undertaker gazed down at the wasted form on the bed, his usually smiling expression somber. “Ophelia will grow up knowing she’s got the best sort of guardian angel watching over her, chap. Thanks for inspiring Grell to fight so hard for her. I’m sorry I never got the chance to know you a bit better.”

Alan smiled again, his chest hitching a little as he took a breath. He closed his eyes and went still, out of energy. Eric compressed his lips and checked his pulse, and he drew a shaken breath when he felt it thrumming weakly beneath his fingertips.

"Wore himself out," he whispered. "I don’ want ta be rude, but could ya give me a moment alone wi’ him?"

"Of course," answered the mortician. He quietly wheeled Grell and his daughter out, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket to give to the redhead when he noticed his quiet weeping.

~xox~

Alan Humphries passed away on the very day Grell and his daughter were released from the hospital. Eric told them he died with a little smile on his face, fearless of the fate awaiting him. They held a funeral for him in the biggest Shinigami cemetery, and all of Dispatch showed up to pay their respects. Grell stood with his daughter cradled in his arms, leaning against his husband for support as they lowered the casket into the ground. He wore a black mourning dress for the occasion, and nobody batted an eyelash over it. It seemed his peers had gotten used to seeing him in ladies’ apparel and the situation was too somber for anyone to bother questioning it.

"Shh," Grell soothed Ophelia when she began to cry. He lifted her against his shoulder and patted her back, rocking her. He looked at Eric and he nearly asked if he wanted to hold her, but the haggard expression on the grieving Scotsman’s face changed his mind. Handing the man a crying infant at such a time was simply a bad idea.

"Here, I’ll take her darlin’," murmured the Undertaker. He nodded at Eric; who was staring down at the casket they’d just lowered. "Why don’t you see to him while I handle Miss Fussy?"

Grell nodded in agreement. “Go with Daddy, Ophelia.”

He handed the child over to her father and he watched as Undertaker carried her away from the assembly, the diaper bag slung over one shoulder. He couldn’t help but admire how he looked in the tuxedo he’d worn for the occasion, even as the sadness tugged at his heart strings. He looked at Eric with soft, sympathetic eyes and he tucked a wayward spiral of hair back into place. He could feel the twist he’d fashioned his locks into trying to unravel already, but he had no mirror handy to correct it and he really didn’t care if it fell, right now.

"Eric," said Grell helplessly. Most of the assembly was leaving now, and the cemetery groundskeepers were beginning to fill in Alan’s grave. Grell reached out to put his hands on the taller reaper’s broad shoulders, and he gasped as Eric whirled in alarm.

"It’s only me," he assured him, seeing no recognition behind the blue-tinted lenses of the man’s glasses. "It’s Grell."

Eric relaxed a bit, looking somewhat ashamed. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I guess mah mind’s far away.”

"You don’t need to apologize," Grell answered softly. Gods, the grief in those eyes was breaking his heart. He wished he could turn off his feelings. He might have been able to, had this happened before he fell in love himself, but now he found it impossible not to sympathize with the agony his coworker must be going through. If it were the Undertaker being buried, Grell knew he’d be beside himself with grief. A tear rolled down Grell’s cheek and he again cursed fate for taking one of the kindest reapers he’d ever known from them.

"Alan was more humane than any human," he sniffed, "and it isn’t fair."

Eric nodded in agreement. He looked so handsome, and so tragic. His eyes glistened with unshed tears and he reached out to wipe away the moisture on Grell’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Here, yer makeup’ll run. Ya look real pretty, Grell. Thanks fer comin’.”

Grell began to cry in earnest, unable to stop the flow of tears and the tide of emotions. “I don’t bloody care about makeup,” he quavered. “But thank you for the compliment.”

Giving him a broken little smirk, Eric chuckled unevenly. “Grell Sutcliff no’ carin’ about his makeup. Tha’s an odd thing. Al wouldnae believe it.”

"Smart-ass," accused Grell with no real malice. He reached for the lacy handkerchief in his hand bag and dabbed at his eyes.

"Come ‘ere," said Eric, drawing him into his embrace.

Grell sniffled again and returned it, laying his cheek against the Scotsman’s chest. He was supposed to be the one comforting Eric; not the other way around.

"He’s no’ sufferin’ any longer," whispered Eric huskily. "He’s at peace. We’re really jus’ grievin’ fer our own loss."

"I know," agreed Grell, "but…it hurts."

"Aye," answered the Scotsman, "an’ it’ll keep hurtin’ for a long while…at least fer me. He’d want us ta keep goin’ and try ta enjoy living, though. I’ve got ta at least try, fer his sake. Yer husband’ll come after me if I don’t."

That made Grell chuckle a bit. Goofy as the Undertaker could be, he had his moments of elderly wisdom and he knew Eric was right.

~xox~

Later that evening there was a memorial dedicated to Alan at William’s place. A selection of finger foods and drinks were available to attendees, and people chatted about their deceased associate, sharing memories of him as they socialized. Eric could only bear so much of it and he excused himself from the gathering after little more than a half hour. Grell and Undertaker decided to make an early night of it as well when Ophelia got too fussy and tired to keep quiet. They took a coach back to the human realm and returned to the mortuary.

"Goodness, they kept going on and on," complained Grell as they walked through the door.

Undertaker locked up behind them and he smiled at the redhead and the infant in his arms. “People never extol someone’s virtues so much as they do when they’ve passed, love. That’s what makes funerals so special. Old rivalries, grudges and mishaps get forgotten and even the worst of miscreants come out smelling like a rose.”

He lowered his gaze thoughtfully. “Although I think Mr. Humphries is probably one of the very few that deserves every bit of praise people heap on him. I really didn’t know the chap but I’ve heard nothing but good things about him, even before he passed.”

Grell sighed and nodded, bouncing his daughter gently against his shoulder to soothe her. “Yes. Alan definitely earned all of that praise. I’m really going to miss him.”

Undertaker approached him and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “At least he got to see the little nipper before he went. I’m half-convinced you went into labor early for that specific reason. He’d have gone before she was born, otherwise.”

Grell looked down at Ophelia contemplatively as he cradled her again. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I think you are right, my love. She came early so that she could meet her uncle Alan, and say goodbye to him.”

The redhead sniffed again and he cursed softly. “Oh drat…here I go again!”

Undertaker smiled tenderly at him and he held his hands out for the baby. “Go ahead and have another cry, darlin’. I’ll take care of the wee minion.”

Grell handed her over and wiped his eyes in vain as the tears came with a vengeance. “I d-don’t understand it,” he griped, “I never shed tears like this over my dear Madame Red, and I was the one who reaped her!”

"Probably because you were doing her a kindness," offered the mortician, snuggling the whimpering baby. "One person you respected and admired was suffering before your eyes and you ended it. Another wasted away in front of you and you could do nothing to stop it. Go ahead and be frustrated, my dear. Be angry. Be sad. Just let it out. It’s better for you."

Grell took his advice—though he really had no other choice. He couldn’t stop his emotions if he tried and he wept tears of grief, rage and confusion while his husband cradled their tiny child in one hand and stroked his shoulder comfortingly with the other.

~xox~

The pain of losing Alan eventually faded enough for Grell to be able to think of him without bursting into tears, but poor Eric struggled with his grief visibly. Two months went by and he seemed to sink further into his depression, rather than healing as he’d claimed he was going to try to do. Ronald caught him drinking in his office one day, and he blew up at him and slapped the bottle of whiskey right out of his hand.

"Hey, if you need to do that, you ain’t doing it alone," he informed him when the Scotsman sputtered in surprise and stared up at him. He felt a little thrill of danger at the look on Eric’s face and he knew he was treading on thin ice, but Ronald had always been braver than he was prudent. He glared right back, hoping he wasn’t about to be decked. He’d seen Eric in brawls before and he knew the man could knock someone out cold with one punch. Seating himself sideways on the edge of the older reaper’s desk, he crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly.

"You can be as pissed off as you want," he stated, "but I made a promise to Alan that I wouldn’t let you crash and burn after he was gone."

The anger softened on Eric’s features. “Did ya, now?”

Ronald nodded. “Yeah. He knew ya might get like this. Not sure why he picked _me_ except he knew you were my party buddy.” He scratched his head and frowned. “I’m not the most responsible reaper, but Alan trusted me enough to ask me to toss you a lifeline if I see you drowning, and I’m not going to let him down.”

Eric smirked. “Ye’ve got some balls, Ronnie…slapping a Scotsman’s whiskey outta his hand.”

The younger reaper shrugged, wincing a little. “Yeah, I guess so. I’m hoping ya still like me enough not to rearrange my face for it.”

Eric’s smirk became a crooked, pained grin and he held up his hand, spacing his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Jus’ enough.”

Ronald smiled. “Lucky for me. Seriously though, Ya need to get out. I’m not gonna lecture you on the drinking because death knows I do my share of it, but drinking alone is a no-no.”

He got up and jerked his chin toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Eric frowned at the unfinished paperwork on his desk. “It’s tha middle o’ tha day, Ronnie. We’re on tha clock.”

"Yeah, and you’re trying to drown your sorrows in a bottle of whisky in the middle of the day, while you’re on the clock." Ronald checked his watch. "We can take a half day off and hit the pubs. What do you think would get you in more trouble: clocking out early and having some drinks in a tavern or staying on the clock and getting caught passed out drunk on your desk?"

Eric sighed. “When yeh put it tha’ way…”

~xox~

Several hours later, Ronald and Eric stumbled out of one of their favorite pubs and took a taxi back to Eric’s apartment. The younger of the two wondered how he always ended up babysitting older reapers. First the Undertaker and now Eric…it was starting to become a regular thing for him.

"Man, I ought to go in business," he grunted as he helped Eric out of the cab and draped the older man’s arm around his shoulders. "I could start charging for this."

"Hmm?" The Scotsman’s head lolled on his shoulders and he laid his forehead against Ronald’s temple.

"Just thinking out loud," excused Ronald. "Come on, big guy…let’s get you inside."

He was buzzing too, but he’d maintained the good sense to pace himself when he saw how fast Eric was tossing back the shots. _One_ of them had to stay sober enough to get them home, after all, and the whole point in dragging Eric out was so that he wouldn’t be drinking alone. He fished Eric’s keys out of his blazer pocket as he helped him into the apartment building and to the elevator. Somehow he managed to get him to his floor without Eric falling over onto his face, and he was panting softly with exertion by the time he half-dragged the taller reaper to his apartment door.

"All right, here we are," sighed Ronald. He propped his companion against the wall and unlocked the door, then put an arm around his waist to guide him inside. "Jeez you’re heavy," complained the blond when Eric’s weight threatened to make his knees buckle. He hadn’t put on any weight that Ronald could see, but the man had a more muscular build than him and he was thankful that Eric hadn’t passed out completely, yet.

He wrangled him into the bedroom and sat him down on the bed, intending to get his shoes off and tuck him in. Eric put his arms around him and Ronald found himself sprawling on top of him as the Scotsman laid back, dragging him with him.

"Uh, okay," muttered Ronald, his face smushing against Eric’s chest. He tried to get up, but the older reaper’s embrace was too tight. "Come on, man…lemme up!"

"Alan," whispered the Scotsman brokenly, a tear trickling from the corner of his eye.

Ronald didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t embracing his dead lover. He sighed, his heart softening in the face of the older man’s drunken grief. “All right…if it makes you feel better…”

He squirmed on top of him, trying to get a little more comfortable. Eric stroked his hair clumsily and nuzzled the crown of his head, making Ronald flush uncomfortably. “Wow…awkward.”

He had to admit the man smelled good, though. He wondered what kind of cologne he used and he made a mental note to ask later on and go buy a bottle for himself. Girls really dug Eric and Ronald tried to emulate his sex appeal to get more dates…but he couldn’t copy the Scotsman’s more masculine good looks.

"At least you won’t go single for long, once you’re ready to start dating again," sighed Ronald.

Eric nuzzled his hair again and Ron’s face reddened further. “Okay, guy…just do me a favor and don’t start feeling me up, alright?”

~xox~

Eventually morning came around, and Eric was startled awake by the sound of his alarm going off. He felt the warmth of a smaller body lying on top of him and for one brief, confused moment he thought it was Alan. He looked down to see the yellow-blond head lying on his chest and reality came crashing back. Ronald too him out for drinks…lots of them. He started to roll the younger reaper off of him, knowing he’d sleep through it easily, but there was something comforting about the contact. The Scotsman sighed and reached out to cut off his alarm. He had an hour to get ready for work…a few moments longer in bed wouldn’t hurt anything.

Ronald was built like Alan. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine…no.  He opened his eyes again and shook his head. Pretending wouldn’t bring him back, and Ronald was his friend. He didn’t need him projecting like that on him as thanks for trying to take care of him.

"Ronnie." He shook the younger reaper gently. "Wake up. We’ve got ta get ready fer work."

Ronald yawned and smacked his lips. “Gimme five more minutes, boss.”

Eric smirked with amusement. “It’s, Eric, no’ William. Come on, lad. If I let ya sleep in I’ll ne’er get yeh out o’ bed.”

Ron grumbled and lifted his head off the Scotsman’s chest. He opened his eyes and peered at him blearily for a moment, and then he seemed to realize he was lying on top of him and his cheeks bloomed pink. “Uh…g’morning,” he mumbled, carefully getting off of Eric. “This isn’t what it looks like. You grabbed me.”

Eric raised his brows. “Did I?” His memory of the previous night had more holes in it than Swiss cheese.

"Yup." Ronald sat up and stretched with a little groan. "I put ya to bed and next thing I knew, ya reached out and snatched me up. Couldn’t get you to let go so I just fell asleep that way."

It was Eric’s turn to be uncomfortable. “Ah, sorry ‘bout tha’. I probably thought yeh were…Alan.”

Ronald grimaced slightly. “I kind of figured. It’s okay.” He got off the bed and combed his fingers through his mussed hair. “Mind if I use your shower? I can probably get away with wearing the same uniform two days in a row, since I didn’t spill any booze on it or anything.”

"Help yourself," invited Eric. He watched the younger reaper go and he laid back down, staring up at the ceiling. He was embarrassed for certain, but Ronald was laid back enough not to let his slip-up bother him too much. He just hoped he hadn’t tried to smooch on him.

~xox~

Grell smiled widely when he emerged from the back to greet Eric in the shop, after being told he was there by his spouse. “Eric! It’s about time you came for a visit!”

Grell went to him and hugged him. He hadn’t seen the Scotsman since Alan’s funeral and he had to admit he was concerned when Ronald told him about finding him drinking in his office the day before. “How are you, darling?” He stepped back to look at him. “You’re looking handsome as ever.”

Eric shrugged. “I cannae really complain. I go’ a raise last week an’ I’ve go’ friends lookin’ out fer me.”

Grell nodded. “Yes, you do. I wish you would visit more often, but I’ll soon be back in the office. My maternity leave is nearly over with and Ophelia is strong enough now for me to leave her side without worrying myself into a state.”

The crimson reaper sighed, looking down at his violet gown. “It’s going to be strange to wear trousers again.”

Eric smiled crookedly. “Ya ne’er know; maybe Will would let ya wear a dress suit instead o’ the pant suit, if ya ask him nice enough.”

Grell shook his head and smirked ruefully. “That’s all right. I would rather not confuse people more than they already are, and I do rather miss my uniform.”

"Wha’s there ta be confused about?" Eric wondered. "People already know ya like ta wear dresses. It was common knowledge afore yeh even ‘came out’."

Grell waved a hand. “They get confused on how to address me,” he explained. “I took a short trip to the Shinigami realm last week to purchase some things we cannot get on this side. I came across one of the fellows from Personnel and he addressed me as female twice, male three times and I swear his face was going to catch fire. The poor sod got so flustered trying to talk to me without offending me that I made up a reason to part ways with him before he put his foot any deeper into his mouth.”

Eric chuckled. “Well, wha’ do ya prefer ta go by, so I don’ make tha’ mistake too?”

The redhead shrugged delicately. “I honestly don’t care either way. It’s funny…I once dreamed of being addressed as a ‘she’ but darling Undy addresses me as both, and I’m quite comfortable with that. It offends me more when people stumble over it and make me feel like a…thing.”

Eric frowned slightly. “If anyone does tha’ while I’m around, let me know. I’ll handle them.”

Grell chuckled and patted him on the arm. “So chivalrous. I’m not really concerned. I know that you, Will and Ronnie will be lined up to punish them if anyone mistreats me at the office. I have such good men in my life.”

"An’ people are prolly too scared o’ pissin’ off yer husband ta risk offending ya too much," Eric pointed out. "I dinnae think any o’ us can top him on the intimidation scale."

Grell cackled and nodded. “My handsome madman can surely inspire fear in those who cross him. I only hope I can return to work without feeling compelled to call and check on our daughter every five minutes. I know separation anxiety is common for new mothers.”

"Ya trust your husband ta take care o’ her while yer at work, don’t yeh?"

"Oh yes," assured Grell with a nod. "Undy is brilliant with her. He has a way with her that I cannot match, and since he typically does his forensic work at night it works out nicely. I will be home in time each evening to take over childcare while he goes to work in his laboratory."

Eric nodded. “Then there’s nothin’ ta worry about. I’m sure it’ll be a bit rough for ya at first, but it’ll get easier. Some parents even bring their kids wi’ ‘em ta work, when they’re old enough ta stay out from underfoot.”

"However do they get anything done?" wondered Grell. "They obviously can’t go on any reaping assignments with a child in tow."

"Depends on their work schedule fer tha day, I s’pose. Ya know how it is; one day yer jus’ doin’ paperwork an’ tha next, yer in tha field."

"I see."

The thin wail of the baby crying broke through Grell’s thoughts, and he grabbed Eric’s hand. “Have dinner with us tonight, won’t you? The back of the house is a mess right now, so just ignore it.”

"I dun’ want ta impose…"

"Nonsense," insisted Grell. "I won’t have you spending another night eating a frozen dinner over the sink, when we’ve got enough to provide you a proper meal."

Eric smirked. “An’ how do ya know how I eat at home?”

"Because Alan once told me he came to drop off paperwork for you back before the two of you got together, and he found you eating that way. Now that you’re a bachelor again, I presume you’ve reverted back to that habit."

Eric smiled a bit painfully, but he seemed to be having an easier time talking about his deceased partner without breaking down, lately. “Aye, he was shocked. A’right, Grell…I’d be happy ta have dinner wi’ yeh…an’ I havenae seen little Ophelia since her birth.”

~xox~

Eric got to hold the infant once Undertaker finished changing her diaper and feeding her, and sat in the rocking chair in the parlor while his hosts prepared dinner. He smiled at the baby when she cooed at him, still amazed at how small she was. She’d grown a bit over the past two months, but she was still smaller than average. Hopefully with a father of Undertaker’s height, she’d hit a growth spurt when she got older.

"Wull, this answers tha question o’ whether your mummy’s hair is naturally tha’ red," he commented to the infant. He’d always wondered but he’d had enough sense never to approach Grell with the question. He stroked the downy head and he laid her against his shoulder and patted her back when she began to fuss a little.

"It’s a’right, lass," soothed Eric. "Jus’ a little tummy upset, aye?"

"Don’t forget the rag," advised Grell when he came in with some tea for his guest. "You don’t want spit-up on your shoulder; trust me."

"Whoops…good advice." Eric situated the rag to avoid such a mishap, and he watched Grell thoughtfully as the redhead took a seat on the sofa and poured the tea he’d set out on the coffee table. "Ye’ve changed."

Grell glanced up from his task. “Oh? How so, darling?”

Eric shrugged a little, and when the baby burped he re-arranged her to cradle her in his lap, one arm supporting her to keep her in place. “Yer…I dunno…domesticated. Motherly.”

Grell snorted. “Well, I _am_ a mother now,” he pointed out, “but I assure you I can still reap with the best of them. I’m simply…content.”

The redhead smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s the word for it. For the first time in my life, I have somewhere I belong. I can be myself, and I know the man I love won’t be put off by that. I suppose it just took me this long to finally realize just who ‘myself’ is.”

He shrugged and slid Eric’s teacup over to him, grinning sharply. “But I promise you, my scythe is as deadly as ever.”   

The Scotsman chuckled. “O’ tha’, I’ve go’ no doubt.”

He leaned over to retrieve his beverage, careful not to jostle the infant in his lap. “It’ll be nice ta have yeh back in tha office again, Grell. I think even William’s missed yer antics.”

"Oh, I very much doubt that," chuckled Grell, "but thank you for making me feel welcome."

He considered the attractive blond man as he sipped his own tea. “So tell me, have you entertained any thoughts of dating again, yet?”

Eric frowned. “It’s only been a couple o’ months.”

"I know that," answered Grell, "and I’m not suggesting you go out and get into a commitment with someone. A night out once in a while with someone you find attractive might be good for you, though. You don’t have to bed them, silly man."

"I need more time." Eric looked like he was trying not to be offended but not quite managing it. "If it were Undertaker, would ya be so quick ta go ou’ lookin’ fer a date wi’ someone else?"

Grell lowered his gaze. “Actually, yes.”

Eric’s brows shot up with surprise. “I don’ believe it.”

Grell sighed. “Not to forget him or replace him,” he explained, “but to feel a man’s arms around me in a dance, or his hand on mine at the dinner table. I feel it would make his absence a little more bearable, if I could just pretend it was _his_ touch I was feeling…even for a little while. I suppose that makes absolutely no sense to you, though.”

Eric’s gaze unfocused in thought. “Actually, it _does_ make sense. I’ve already done a bit o’ pretendin’. It willnae bring him back, though.”

"No, but it can bring you comfort," Grell advised. "If you need more time then by all means take it, but don’t avoid romance forever. You have a long existence to look forward to—provided you don’t do something foolish and get yourself killed—and I don’t want you to be lonely."

Eric smirked without humor. “I’ve go’ friends ta keep me company, if I need it. So, does yer husband know how ya feel abou’ datin’ if anythin’ happens ta him?”

"Yes he does," answered the Undertaker suddenly from the archway leading into the kitchen and dining area. He approached Grell with a smile and he bent over to kiss him on the cheek. "And he approves. I wouldn’t want my rose to be lonely."

"Wha’ if he started datin’ Will?" pressed Eric with a sly smirk.

Undertaker’s grin faltered ever so slightly. It was evidently a bit different if it was someone Grell could actually love as much as he loved Undertaker. The mortician recovered quickly, though. “Beggars can’t be choosers, chap. I might feel a bit threatened at times by Grell’s affection for that man, but if something happened to me and Mr. Spears proved to be the key to Grell finding happiness again, I suppose I could accept that.”

Undertaker rubbed his hands together and he approached Eric, reaching out for his daughter. “Dinner’s ready, so let’s migrate into the dining area to enjoy it, hmm?”

Eric relinquished the baby to her father and he smiled when she immediately grabbed hold of the single braid woven into the Undertaker’s long hair, as if it was her security blanket. She giggled and offered the mortician a gummy smile as he grinned down at her.

"She’s a Daddy’s girl, no mistakin’ that," observed Eric.

"Yes she is," sighed Grell with a slightly rueful smile, "but I can hardly blame her. I’m quite fond of her Daddy too."

~xox~

-To be continued


	13. Chapter 13

It felt odd to be back in the office at first, but then the paperwork began to pile up and Grell quickly got back into his usual routine—whether he liked it or not. He spent the first week playing catch-up, before he resumed his reaping duties. People were courteous to him, but he could feel their curious stares on him as he passed them in the halls or ate in the cafeteria at lunch. Fortunately, they knew better than to say anything about his unique anatomy or his recent maternity leave. He caught one of the ladies from Human Resources staring at him one day in the cafeteria when he went for lunch, but then William came in, gave her a stern, warning look and she quickly focused her attention elsewhere.

Eric and Ronald were both very helpful, offering to take care of some of his paperwork for him when they had a bit of time to spare. Grell suspected that the former was just as happy to have something else to occupy his mind and take it off his grief. The hardest part of returning to work was the illogical guilt that Grell suffered over leaving his daughter each weekday. During the first week, he called ever hour on the hour to check in on her, and Undertaker patiently assured him that little Ophelia was fine, never admonishing him for worrying so. The best part of the day was when Grell clocked out and returned home to his little family.

One night three weeks after his return to work, Grell lay with his cheek against his husband’s chest after some sweaty, vigorous lovemaking, and he smiled dreamily. “I never would have imagined having a family of my own some day,” he confessed in a whisper. “I never thought I was the mothering sort, though I’ve spent my entire life envying women for their ability to bear children.”

"You’re a wonderful mum," assured the mortician, still catching his breath. He stroked Grell’s hair. "And I couldn’t ask for a better wife."

Grell kissed his scarred, ivory chest and grinned. “You flatter, sir.”

Undertaker snorted. “I’d better, if I want to keep getting loving like that.” He patted Grell’s naked rump familiarly, smiling. “I wasn’t too rough with you was I, darlin’?”

"Not at all." Grell lifted his head off his chest and squirmed up a bit to kiss him softly on his grinning lips. "It’s about bloody time you gave me your cock again. Not that I don’t adore having your ass, my darling, but I missed feeling you inside of me."

The mortician snickered softly and rubbed his nose against Grell’s. “I know you’ve been frustrated, m’dear. I just wanted to be sure you were fully recovered, first. Reaper healing rate or not, the birth was tough on you and I can’t always hold back when my lady’s gripping me so tight, begging me for more.”

"I did beg a bit, didn’t I?" Grell chuckled. "I can’t help it, my love. You fill me so deeply, my passion gets the better of me. But now you know that you won’t hurt me, so you can stop worrying."

The baby started crying and Grell put the conversation on hold to go and see to her. “I’ll return shortly, darling,” he promised his husband.

"Why not bring her in here to lay in bed with us for a while?" suggested the mortician, turning onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow.

Grell slipped into his kimono and he smiled at him. “I was wondering when you would stop worrying about accidentally crushing her. In that case, we’ll both return to your side shortly.”

He winked at Undertaker before exiting to the hallway and going into the nursery. “Shh, my little princess,” he murmured as he approached the cradle and scooped the baby up. Her cries softened to whimpers as he held her and bounced her gently. “Mummy’s here. Is it your tummy again?”

A smell wafted up from her diaper and Grell made a face. “Oh, it’s a different problem.”

He sighed. Ordinarily, Undertaker dealt with the nappies of the brown variety. He was more used to unpleasant odors than Grell and the last time the redhead tried to change a poopy diaper he’d gagged. He did it anyway because his husband was busy with an autopsy, but he preferred not to unless he had to.

"Um, darling?"

He heard Undertaker’s chuckle from the other room. “Diaper duty?” guessed the ancient.

"I’m afraid so," admitted Grell with a little grimace. "I could try to do it…"

He heard the creak of the bed as the other reaper got out of it, and a moment later Undertaker walked in, wearing his black bathrobe. “It’s all right, love. I’ll take care of it.”

Grell sighed with relief and gave him a sheepish smile as he handed the whimpering infant over to him. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

The mortician took their daughter and he carried her over to the changing table. “I hear a clothespin on the nose works for some folks, but fortunately you don’t need to worry about that. Go on and lay back down, lovely. I’ll have the muffin cleaned up and changed in a jiffy.”

~xox~

Time passed all too quickly, and Ophelia’s first birthday came and went. Ronald and Eric visited often, and the two of them were closer than ever before. The younger agent had made it his purpose to try and get Eric back into the dating game and move on, and they went out every weekend together, hitting the clubs and lounges in the Shinigami realm…as well as the mortal realm, sometimes. Ronald usually ended up with a collection of phone numbers by the end of the night, but Eric still showed no interest in dating.

To Ronald, it was like watching a rolemodel fade away. They said a year was a healthy length of time to mourn…sometimes two. He understood that and he didn’t want his friend to forget Alan, but it seemed wrong to him for a man like Eric to be alone for so long. He wasn’t even interested in a fling with anyone, and Ronald didn’t think that was healthy at all.

"Maybe I’m just being insensitive," he said to Grell one Sunday while on an outing with him.

Grell paused in front of a shop to admire a pair of boots. “Nonsense, Ronnie. You’re being practical. Slingby is far too hunky to be single forever. It’s a waste.” He checked the price of the high-heeled boots and he nodded at the shop door. “Come on, I want to try those on. And don’t worry so much about Eric. He’s improved immensely since the funeral, and that’s in no small part thanks to you. Why, he’s almost his old, outgoing self again! I’m sure he’ll have some lucky lady or fellow on his arm, soon enough.”

Ronald opened the door for him and Grell pushed the stroller carrying his daughter through the shop door. She giggled at the sound of the bell ringing as they entered, and she looked up curiously and made grabby motions at it as her mother wheeled her in.

"Here precious," Grell said to the squirming toddler, picking up the rattle wedged in the stroller. "Play with that."

“ _Aghgagoo!_ " Ophelia approved, grasping the pink and black toy in her little hand and shaking it.

"Heh…she loves that thing." Ronald squatted down to smile at the child, and he reached out to straighten the lacy pink bonnet on her crimson head. "Not the colors I’d expect you to give her, though."

"Oh, I’ve tried to share my passion for red with her," sighed Grell, checking his money purse to be sure he had enough for the purchase he wanted. "She favors her papa’s colors, though."

"Well, maybe that will change as she grows up," suggested Ronald. "Hey, do ya think you and Undertaker might try to give her a brother or sister sometime down the line?"

"It’s a bit soon to begin planning another baby," answered Grell. The shopkeeper came over and greeted them. Dressed as lady as always when he wasn’t on the clock these days, Grell spoke in a softer, higher pitch to the man. "Good afternoon, sir. I should like to try on a pair of those boots you have in the window, if you have them in my size?"

"Of course, Miss! Please, come and have a seat so that we may begin. Can your husband watch the little one while I fetch a pair for you?"

Grell smirked at Ronald, who got a little flustered at being mistaken as his husband. “He is my little brother; and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on his niece for a few moments. Ronnie? Is that a problem?”

"Uh, no…I mean sure, I’ll watch her!" It was so weird to be called his brother, but then again, Grell really was like a big sister to him. "Leave it to me!"

While Grell went to try on boots, Ronald kept Ophelia occupied. Once the redhead was satisfied that he wanted to make the purchase, Ronald stood back up and went to the register before Grell could dig out the currency for them.

"This one’s on me," explained the blond as he got out his wallet.

"Ronnie, I can’t let you do that."

Ron winked at his mentor. “Why not? I just got a raise last week, so I can spare it. Besides, your birthday’s coming up and I’ve been wondering what to get ya. This takes the guess work out of it.”

Grell sighed, but he smiled and reached out to ruffle the younger reaper’s hair fondly. “How fortunate I am to have such a sweet kid brother.”

~xox~

"Whoa, look at her."

Eric glanced up from his drink to look in the direction his party companion had jerked his chin. He shrugged. It was one of the newer girls from Human Resources or some other department; a pretty brunet with waist-length hair, a petite build and long legs. They were at one of their favorite dance clubs, and Ronald was again pointing out women to him, trying to convince him to strike up a conversation with one of them.

"She’s nice."

Ronald’s brows shot up. “Just ‘nice’? Those legs must go all the way up! I know you used to dig the ladies as much as the guys.”

"I didnae say she’s no’ attractive," countered the Scotsman with a smirk. More than a year had passed since Alan lost the battle and succumbed to the Thorns, and though he did get out more often with friends these days, he was still resisting Ronald’s attempts to set him up with women.

"Well then why don’t ya go talk to her?" prompted the blond. "Do it before I do."

"Be mah guest," invited the older reaper.

"Hmph. Maybe I should start looking for _guys_ to set you up with,” grumbled Ronald. He shrugged. “I’m going in.”

"Good luck, wi’ her," said Eric.

~xox~

She really was cute, but Ronald’s dating schedule was honestly full enough already. The only reason he hadn’t been trying to perk Eric’s interests in reapers of the male variety yet was because he thought it might be too soon for him, still. Being with another man would probably just remind him too much of Alan, so in Ron’s mind, he was better off getting back into dating with women first.

"Must be nice," he sighed as he crossed the floor and slipped past other coworkers and special guests. He’d only been dating women, but he was starting to think he might try his hand with guys, too. He could double his chances of finally meeting someone he actually liked enough to sleep with, if he could broaden his range—so to speak. The problem was he wasn’t sure how to approach another guy and he wasn’t sure if he was into them or not, yet.

"Hey there," he greeted the young woman with a wink. "How are you liking the party so far?"

She looked at him with some interest—they generally always did. “It’s not bad. I don’t really know many people yet.”

"Ronald Knox," he introduced, sticking his hand out with a smile. "I work in the Dispatch division. You just started a few days ago, right?"

She nodded and shook his hand with a little smile. “Elisha Cook, and yes…I only recently completed my training and got a position in Human Resources. I think I’ve seen you around. You’re the one the other ladies always fawn over.”

He shrugged and grinned. “I’ll be honest with ya, I like to talk to them during breaks and take ‘em out on dates. I figured you ought to hear it from me first, before you get the wrong impression.”

She chuckled. “I’ve already heard a few things, Mr. Knox. So tell me, did you come and introduce yourself because you want to take me out on a date too?”

He winced inwardly, but he kept a steady smile. “I’d love to take you out sometime, but tonight I actually thought maybe I’d introduce you to a friend of mine.”

Her face fell a bit. “So you’re his wingman?”

Ronald scratched his head. “Not usually,” he admitted. He nodded in Eric’s direction. “This guy can usually get his own dates, but he’s been out of the loop for a while since his last partner died. See him over there in the white shirt and tan pants? He’s the tall blond guy with the blue-tinted glasses.”

She looked, and he could see her interest perk up immediately when her gaze fell on Eric. They all tended to do that. The Slingby sex appeal was still going strong even if the man didn’t try to use it.

"Is that Officer Slingby?" she asked, leaning toward Ronald to speak in a low voice.

Nearly laughing at the way her eyes glued to Eric’s butt as he turned his back to them and leaned over to speak to the bartender, Ronald nodded. “Yup, that’s him. Guess you’ve seen him around too, huh?”

She shook her head. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen him in person, but the other ladies talk. I heard about what happened to his partner…poor man.” She managed to tear her eyes off the Scotsman and she frowned slightly as she looked at Ronald. “But…wasn’t he _dating_ his partner?”

"Yeah, they were pretty serious," confirmed Ron with a nod.

"But Mr. Humphries was a man," she reminded him.

"Oh, don’t worry about that," said Ronald hastily. "He’s into girls too. Uh, that’s not a turn-off for ya is it? Knowing he swings both ways?" It never seemed to stop the other girls from admiring and flirting with him before.

"Oh, no," she assured. "I just didn’t realize. Do you…think he would be interested in me?"

Wow…how quickly they forgot all about him when he pointed out Eric. Ron smirked a little ruefully, envious of how effortlessly his friend attracted people. “Honey, if he’s not then he needs to get his eyes checked. How about I introduce you, so you two can get to know each other?”

She picked up her drink off the table beside her and she smiled. “I’m game for it.”

~xox~

Eric nearly groaned when Ronald introduced the new girl to him and then promptly left the two of them alone at the bar to hit the dance floor. He smiled at the girl anyway, already having forgotten her name. “How do ya like workin’ yer department so far?” he asked smoothly, easily falling into small talk out of habit.

"It can be stressful some days," she confessed, "but I do enjoy it. So far everyone seems very friendly and helpful."

Eric nodded. “Tha’s good. Some people cannae handle tha fast pace of that department an’ they end up puttin’ in fer a transfer. I hope it works out for ya.”

She smiled and twirled a lock of chestnut hair around her finger. “I love your accent. I think I could just stand here listening to you talk all night long.”

He forced a chuckle. “I’ll try ta keep comin’ up wi’ interesting things ta say, then.”

His gaze fell on Ronald, who was out under the flashing lights of the dance floor, showing off his moves. The Scotsman smirked as he watched him, amused by the audience he’d drawn to himself as Ronald gyrated, hopped and twirled.

_~Work that arse, kid. Jus’ don’ be too surprised if tha’ fella behind yeh decides to reach out an’ cop a feel.~_

In fact, the fellow in question was practically salivating as he watched the young Dispatch agent boogey down. The girls admiring him were due for bibs too, but their looks weren’t nearly so…predatory.

Eric’s smile faded into a frown. The guy was approaching Ronald—probably intending to start dancing with him—but to the Scotsman his intentions seemed more nefarious.  His protective instincts rose up and he swallowed at the memory of the last time someone had laid uninvited hands on another young Dispatch agent in front of him.

Whats-her-face from whatever department she’d said she was in was still talking, but Eric had stopped paying attention as the tall reaper with collar-length silver hair and a matching goatee came up behind Ronald.

“‘Scuse me fer a minute,” Eric said absently, putting his drink down on the bar. He didn’t listen for her reply. He crossed the dance floor just as Ronald’s male admirer grabbed the blond by the hips and started grinding up against his ass from behind, startling Ronnie so much that he didn’t immediately react.

Eric reacted for him.

"Oi, hands off!" He grabbed the man roughly by the shoulder, spun him to face him and decked him so hard that he flew backwards a foot, before landing and skidding on his back. People jumped out of the way as Eric stalked him, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Eric…what the…" Ronald sputtered as the Scotsman grabbed the dazed man by the front of his shirt and began to lay into him. The guy was unconscious by the third punch, but Eric kept hitting him. Security pushed through the crowd and dragged the angry Scotsman off with difficulty, and Ronald followed on confusion as he was forcibly escorted out the back door to the alley.

"Uh, I’m with him," he admitted in an uncomfortable tone as he squeezed past the bouncers and joined his friend in the alley. He stuck his hands into his pockets as Eric shook his smarting fist and scowled at the door when it slammed shut. "Okay, do ya want to tell me what that was all about?"

Eric sucked on his middle knuckle and shrugged. “Jus’ teachin’ a worm some manners, is all.”

Ronald took one hand out of his pocket and combed his fingers through his hair. “Why?”

The older reaper lifted his brows. “Were ya no’ standin’ in tha same room wi’ me, Ronnie? Tha man _grabbed_ ya and tried ta dry-hump ya!”

"Okay…yeah, that was bad and really uncomfortable, but it’s not like that’s the first time someone wanted a little Ronnie lovin’ and decided to grope me."

"First time in front o’ me," corrected Eric. He grimaced at his bruised and bleeding knuckles.

"Shit, let me see that," sighed Ronald. He dug a handkerchief out of his blazer and took Eric’s hand to dab at it. "Did ya have to rearrange his face like that? The bouncers would have taken care of it, you know. I liked that nightclub, too. I guess that’s off our list now."

"There ‘r plenty of other places ta dance an’ drink," excused Eric. He grimaced. "Sorry, Ronnie."

The smaller reaper shrugged, and he smirked up at his companion. “It’s all right. I guess I can still come here by myself on the nights you don’t feel like club-hopping with me.” He looked back down at the hand he was nursing. “Wow, you really laid into him. Hope ya didn’t crack anything.”

"Jus’ his jaw," answered Eric with a smirk.

Ron looked up at him again. “Stop looking so smug. You could have been tossed in jail and that guy still might press charges against you.”

"Then he’d have ta explain wha’ he was doin’ when I struck him," said the Scotsman, "an’ I’m willin’ ta bet his wife won’t be thrilled ta find out he sexually assaulted some hot young thing at tha club."

Ronald snorted. “Hot young thing, eh? And how do you know he’s married?”

Eric shrugged his broad shoulders. “Saw a wedding band when he grabbed ya.”

"Ugh, that is _so_ messed up,” said Ronald with distaste. “I might play the field and all, but if I ever get married or in a serious relationship, my flirting days are over.”

"Good ta know," approved Eric. "Ye’ll be surprised how easy it is ta give up tha’ life, when ya find ‘the one’." He sighed and looked away.

"Hey, it’s all right big guy," Ronald soothed, releasing his hand to pat his arm. "It was kind of boneheaded for you to jump in and start swinging like that, but I…I appreciate the sentiment."

"Do yeh?" Eric grinned softly. "Yer no’ going ta accuse me o’ bein’ a caveman, then?"

Ronald waved it off. “Nah. I guess that’s just the kind of guy you are. Girls probably love it. Oh shit! Speaking of girls, what about Elisha? Want me to go in and see if she’ll come out somewhere else with us?”

"Thanks, but no thanks," answered the Scotsman. "I really wasnae interested, Ronnie. It’s a’right."

Ronald sighed. “You’ve got to get back on the horse some day, pal. I know some folks like being single, but you were never one of them.”

The Scotsman smiled gently at him. “I will when I’m ready, lad. Stop worryin’ so much abou’ it. Now let’s get ou’ of here an’ find ano’er place ta go.”

~xox~

Ronald blinked and stared at his companion. That smile was…different. Was that how he used to smile at Alan? It made him feel a little funny inside…kind of tingly. It wasn’t his usual rogue-ish grin, or one of the strained ones he forced on his lips so much these days. As he fell into step with him and started toward the end of the alleyway, an unbidden question sprang to mind and Ron’s mouth voiced it without thinking.

"Hey Eric? What’s it like to kiss another guy?"

The Scotsman stopped and looked at him.

"I mean," explained Ronald, suddenly awash with uncertainty and confusion, "is it like kissing a girl? Rougher, maybe? Is there ever any like…dominance issues with the tongue?"

Eric chuckled softly and scuffed the ground with the heel of his boot. “Depends on tha guy, Ronnie.”

Ronald knew he should stop, but now his curiosity was even greater. “So I’m guessing a guy like you would probably be the assertive type, huh?”

Eric tilted his head slightly. “Why are ye askin’ me this, Ron?”

The younger reaper shrugged twice, wondering the same damned thing. “I dunno…I was just curious, I guess. Sometimes I think I might go for another guy but I’m not sure and…and…wh-what are ya doing?”

Eric had cupped his face in his hands and he was closing the distance between them. Instead of answering his question, he demonstrated his intentions with a kiss. Ron stood frozen, stunned by the unexpected action. Eric’s lips were warm, firm and silken all at once. His goatee tickled pleasantly as it brushed against Ronald’s chin, and he tasted of whiskey and cloves. He must have had one of those little clove cigars he enjoyed now and then, sometime while they were inside the dance club.

Ronald’s head spun and he didn’t know what to do with himself at first, thinking he should push him away but unable to act on that. Then Eric’s tongue slid into his mouth and…sparks. There were some _serious_ sparks. In fact, it was more like the sky lit up with Chinese fireworks than a spark and Ronald moaned into the kiss, helplessly stunned. He felt the brick wall against his back as Eric pushed him up against it, and the hands that Ronald had put on his shoulders with the initial thought of pushing him away settled on the Scotsman’s chest, instead. His entire body pulsed with desire as a thrill swept through him, and he swore he felt Eric’s heartbeat pick up in tempo beneath his hands.

Eric’s hands left his face to capture his, the larger fingers entwining with his. Ronald gasped as Eric then guided his hands to the wall on either side of his head and pinned them there. His tongue delved deeper into Ron’s mouth as he held him trapped, his powerful body pressed flush against the smaller reaper’s. A whimper arose in his throat and Ronald reciprocated his tongue’s attentions, caressing it as it thrust and curled in his mouth.

~Fuck…oh fuck…what’s going on? He’s my friend, and he’s kissing me? Damn he’s good, too…this…this is hot.~

If they were at either of their apartments doing this right now and Eric started taking his clothes off, Ronald could honestly say he wouldn’t have stopped him. Hell, he didn’t even know if he’d stop him if he started stripping him down right there in the alley. Nobody had _ever_ kissed him like this…like he was so desirable they couldn’t help but plunder him. He squeezed the larger hands restraining his, unable to even find the will to fight their hold on him.

It was like sex. Like the man was…having sex with his mouth. At least, this was what Ronald supposed having sex was like. He’d fooled around but oral was as far as he’d ever gotten with anyone. When Eric sucked on his tongue, Ronald’s stomach did a flip and he moaned again. Yes…this was totally mouth sex. Where were his legs? Was he still standing, or was Eric’s hold on him the only thing keeping him upright?

Finally after damned near five minutes of kissing, the Scotsman released him and stepped back. He was breathing just as heavily as Ronald, and he kept his hands on his shoulders to support him when he noticed how wobbly he was on his feet. For a moment, Ron thought he saw a hint of uncertainty in the bigger man’s eyes, but then Eric gave him one of those sexy smirks and a wink.

"Now ye know," said the Scotsman, his voice a husky purr. He ruffled Ronald’s hair in a friendly manner. "Did tha’ help clear it up, Ronnie?"

Ronald swallowed, wiping his mouth in case of drool. “Uh, y-yeah. It um…sure did.”

He wasn’t sure which thing Eric meant to clear up with that…his ambiguity about attraction to men or his curiosity about what it was like to kiss one. His pants felt way too tight and his heart was pounding like crazy.

"Ya know…I think I’m just going to cal it an early night," Ronald heard himself say. He couldn’t stop looking at him. He could still taste him on his lips.

"Ya sure?" Eric frowned a little. "Are ye okay? Sorry if I startled ya there. Prolly wasnae such a good idea ta jus’ do it wi’out warning, after tha’ guy grabbed ye in tha club."

"No, it’s fine," insisted Ronald. "We’re fine, Eric. It…cleared some things up for me."

_~I need a cold shower. Please don’t let him notice…~_

Eric looked like he didn’t quite believe him, but he shrugged. “Let’s get a cab, then. Hope I didnae traumatize ya too much.”

"No…not traumatized," assured Ronald, his legs still kind of shaky. "Just uh…wish you’d warned me. I’m a better kisser than that and I wasn’t ready."

Eric laughed and clapped him lightly on the back. “Did I complain? ‘Sides, it’s better I took ya by surprise. Now ya know how ye feel, right?”

Actually he was more confused than ever, but Ronald nodded.

~xox~

~Just a kiss. It was just one stupid, sexy, hot as hell kiss. Oh cripes, stop staring at the guy’s lips, Ronald. He’s gonna notice!~

A week had passed since Eric laid that smackaroo on him in the alley, and Ronald couldn’t stop thinking about it and fantasizing about grabbing the man and initiating an encore, every time he was around him now. Eric acted like it was no big deal…a favor between friends. Ronald didn’t want to make him feel guilty or weird so he didn’t mention it again, but now he feared he was crushing hard on the man. He’d always thought Eric was handsome and sexy, but he’d never really thought of him _romantically_ before that kiss. He’d gone from being Ronald’s role model to forbidden fruit in one fell swoop.

"Ronnie, did ya hear anythin’ I jus’ said to ya?"

Ronald blinked. “Wha? Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about…this girl I like.”

Eric sighed and chuckled. “Ano’er one so soon? What’s this one’s name? Or is it tha same one ye were daydreamin’ about yesterday?”

"Same one." It was a half-truth, but it was all he could come up with.

Eric stacked more paperwork. “So tell me about her. What’s she like, this lass yer so enamored wi’?”

Again, Ronald resorted to telling the truth without spilling all of it. “Tall, blond. Kind of tan. Smokin’ body, sexy smile…great kisser.” He was starting to blush, and he averted his gaze.

Eric nodded and opened up another file. “Do ya have anythin’ in common wi’ her, or is it just physical?”

"Oh, we’ve got plenty of things in common," answered Ronald, thinking of all the fun he and Eric had when they hit the town together. "We party and laugh and tease each other. I’m just…not sure she’s as into me as I think I’m into her."

Eric frowned a little and took off his glasses to wipe them. “What do ye mean, ‘think’. Ya don’t _know_ if you’re into her?”

Ron shrugged and looked out the window. “Well, I…guess I never really thought of her this way ‘till recently.”

"Hmm, what changed yer mind?" The Scotsman was absently cleaning his lenses, keeping his eyes on his task.

Ronald took a deep breath. “She beat up some guy for grabbing me at a club and then kissed me stupid in the alleyway afterwards.”

Eric looked up sharply, nearly dropping his glasses. “Er…tha’ sounds…familiar.”

"Yeah, I’m talking about _you_ , dumbass.”

The Scotsman flushed a little. “Ah…then there’s no girl at all, aye?”

Ron sighed and shook his head, putting his face in his hands. “No. Dammit…I’m all confused now. I thought I could handle it and just sort it out on my own, but ever since you kissed me I can’t stop…thinking of it.”

Eric now looked as uncomfortable as Ronald. “I ne’er meant ta confuse you, Ronnie. I had a feeling as soon as I started ta do it tha’ I was makin’ a mistake. I shouldnae have done it at all, but—”

"Then why _did_ you?” Demanded Ronald. He’d been fine before that kiss, but now he didn’t know which end was up anymore.

Eric put his glasses back on and he looked at him hesitantly. “I suppose tha adrenaline rush an’ tha whiskey impaired mah judgment.”

"That’s it? Really?" Ronald was getting angry. "It was just some random idea that came to you?"

"Well…no…"

"Hey look, I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend. I don’t even know if I’m ready to date a guy. Yeah, that kiss cleared up a couple of things for me, but it clouded some others, too. Did…did you feel anything? ‘Cause to me it was like being hit with a bolt of lightning. Fuck…I’ve never been kissed like that before."

Eric pinched his lips. “That so?”

"It’s not funny!" Snapped Ronald. "I mean to you it might have been just some weird favor, but to me it was a fucking revelation. Now I just don’t know what to—"

Eric got out of his chair while Ronald was ranting, and before the younger reaper could even finish speaking, he circled around his desk, bent over and kissed him. Ronald was once more trapped by lust and that magical explosion of sparks. This time he didn’t just freeze; he wrapped his arms around Eric’s neck and rose from his chair, pushing him back until he was trapped between him and the desk. All of that confusion melted away in the passion of the kiss, and he made a frustrated sound of desire as Eric’s hands slid down his back to squeeze his bottom.

Tongues meeting and caressing, the two reapers kissed, licked and sucked on each other’s mouths and tongues. Eric made a noise in his throat that was something between a growl and a purr, and it turned Ronald on even more. He pawed at the taller man’s uniform jacket, pulling it open to get at the shirt underneath. He loosened Eric’s tie and he unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt…not trying to undress him so much as bare his throat and clavicle to view. He’d always thought he had a nice collarbone, and he loved that plain gold chain he wore around his neck.

Hot…oh gods, the hotness. Was this what people went on about when they talked about burning blood and consuming passion? Was this what Alan felt like when his partner kissed him? Eric sucked on his tongue again and Ronald groaned, pressing tightly up against him. He felt evidence of the taller reaper’s arousal against his lower abs and that funny feeling like he was falling from a tall drop happened again. It went on for about the same amount of time as the last kiss, before Eric finally pulled away and stared at him.

"—do," finished Ronald breathlessly.

"Eh?" Eric was smiling a little, breathing heavily as well.

"I…I was trying to tell ya I dunno what to do, before," explained the younger reaper, flustered.

"Ah. Wull, how ‘bout now?" Eric stroked his hair, his voice again that deepened, husky drone.

Ronald swallowed. “Still attracted to ya. Thanks for that confirmation. Shit, that was hot.”

"Aye," agreed the Scotsman. "An’ now I’m not so sure I know wha’ ta do, meself."

"How about explain why you really kissed me that night," suggested Ronald. "Was it just because I asked about kissing guys?"

Eric lowered his gaze and shook his head. “I’d be lyin’ if I said yes. I think seein’ tha’ guy put his hands on ye triggered somethin’ I didnae expect. Maybe it was already there an’ I just tried ta ignore it. Then ya were so gentle wi’ mah hand when ye were tryin’ ta take care o’ it, an’ I’m a sucker fer a nurturing touch.”

Ronald thought about how gentle and caring Alan had been, and it made sense. “Well, I’m not really that ‘nurturing’, but I do try to take care of my friends. I uh…don’t think I’ll ever compare to Alan, and I’ve never done this with a guy before.”

Eric shook his head and gave him one of those gentle smiles, like the one he’d given him that night in the alley. “I don’t see Al when I look at ya, Ronnie. He was special, an’ nobody’ll ever take his place…but I think I might be ready ta try an’ let someone in ta join him in here.” He took Ronald’s hand and placed it over his heart. “Tha’ is, if ye think ya might be interested.”

The younger reaper swallowed, his heart skipping a beat in reaction to the contact. “What the hell have you done to me?”

Eric shrugged. “Nothin’ intentional, but since we’re already on tha’ page, why not see where tha rest o’ the book might take us? Yer all goin’ on abou’ how I need ta live mah life and move on. Now I think I’ve found someone I’d like ta try doin’ tha’ with.”

Ronald was torn. There was no doubting the attraction he felt for the man, now that he’d sampled his kissing skills. Eric was his friend, though. He didn’t want to ruin that. “What happens if things don’t work out? I don’t want to lose my party buddy over a break-up, and like I said; I’m still not sure how to handle this.”

"Then we can go slow," assured Eric, "an’ no matter wha’ comes o’ this, I’ll always be yer party buddy. I jus’ think now that I know it’s no’ jus’ me, it’s worth a shot. If ya need more time though—"

Ronald rolled his eyes and cupped the back of the Scotsman’s head, silencing him with a kiss. How could he talk about needing more time, when he’d been trying to convince Eric to move on? It scared him how strongly Eric’s kisses affected him, but he’d never know if it was real or not if he was too chickenshit to try.

Eric hummed in delight and embraced him, kissing him back. Sparks flew again and Ronald thought it was a good thing the man wasn’t in a particular hurry. He’d have a hard time saying no if Eric tried to get down his pants right now.

"Keep that up and I’m gonna give you my cherry on a silver platter," gasped the younger reaper thoughtlessly against his companion’s lips.

Eric paused and looked at him with mild confusion, followed by an expression of comprehension. “Ronnie, are ya…don’t tell me yer a virgin!”

Ronald blushed and cursed his own big mouth. “So what if I am? Does that change anything?”

"O’ course it doesn’t," answered the Scotsman. "I’m jus’…surprised, is all. I figured wi’ yer dating record you’d have had at least _one_ tumble in tha sheets, by now.”

"Hey, I date a lot," said Ron with a shrug, "doesn’t mean I sleep around. I’m…uh…kind of waiting for the right person. Man, that sounds so lame."

Eric chuckled and shook his head, caressing Ronald’s cheek with his fingertips. “No it doesn’t. Yer young an’ it’s no’ a bad thing at all ta want yer first time ta be special.”

Ronald shivered. Styx, this guy could make him hot just with a simple touch, now. There was a promise in his eyes too that left little doubt that if Ronald chose his first time to be with him, he’d make it very special. He had no trouble believing that either, because he’d overheard Eric and Alan’s bedroom activities one weekend morning when he dropped by their flat without calling and used the spare key they gave him to get in. After hearing Alan’s unrestrained cries of pleasure, he’d quickly left without calling out to them. Boy, did he ever blush, too.

He didn’t want to mention that time to Eric…didn’t want to remind him of Al again. Instead, he gave him a flirty grin and a wink. “Is that an offer?”

Eric smirked back. “It’s a promise, if ya decide ye want me.”

"I already _do_ want you,” admitted Ronald, “and it’s scary.”

"Then take a step back," suggested Eric. He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "Date some more…see if ya click wi’ anyone more than me. I won’t like it, but I can wait ‘till ya feel more secure. I dinnae want ye rushin’ something yer not sure about, Ronnie."

The younger reaper sighed. “I don’t think I’m interested in dating anyone else now. Ya spoiled me with those kisses.”

Eric laughed. “Hate ta say it, but I’m relieved ta hear that.”

"Are you?" Grinning, Ronald moved in on him again. He put his hands on his shoulders and he leaned in to sniff his cologne. "Mm, I love this stuff you wear. What is it? No, don’t tell me…I’ll go out and buy a bottle to drench myself with it and then I’ll _never_ get you off my mind.”

"Maybe I ought ta drench ya with it meself, in tha’ case," purred the Scotsman. He put his arms around Ronald and he rubbed his back. "There’s one thing I should warn ye about, Ronnie."

"Yeah? What’s that?" Ronald combed his fingers through Eric’s wavy lion’s mane, feeling the urge to kiss him again.

"If we start datin’…yer mine." He said it with a completely straight face.  

That funny little thrill was back again, and Ronald swallowed as he recalled the way Eric had pinned him against the wall in the alley. “Well yeah…I mean if we’re exclusive that kind of means I’m yours, anyway.”

"No’ ‘kind of’," corrected Eric, holding his gaze. "Completely. I say this ‘cause I’m a territorial man when I’m wi’ someone in a commitment. This means ya may have ta put up wi’ more things like wha’ happened tha’ night at the club. I’m no’ an overbearing lover, but I’m a protective one. Do ya think ya can deal wi’ that? If no’, there’s still time ta back out."

"I…no, that’s cool," Ronald said, "I mean, if we start dating. I’ve never been with someone like that, but I’ve never been in a real relationship before, either. Just try not to punch everyone that looks at me cross-eyed, okay?"

Eric looked him over. “It’s no’ their eyes I’m worried about, sweetheart. It’s their hands. They can look all they bloody want…” He drew him close again, his breath tickling Ronald’s ear as he murmured into it. “…but if we end up together, this is all mine.”

He slid his hands down Ronald’s back and cupped his bottom for emphasis. A shiver of lust went through Ronald and he unconsciously pressed close to him again, looking up at him with a challenge in his eyes. “Does that go for you too? Will this be all mine?” He mimicked the Scotsman’s actions and squeezed his ass…and what a nice, firm ass it was.

"Wouldn’t be very fair if it were otherwise," assured Eric with a grin. "But take some time ta think it o’er, Ronnie."

He kissed him briefly, and even that short contact was enough to make Ronald tingle. “Like I said, I can wait. I’ve been alone fer this long, so ano’er week or even a month won’t kill me.”

Ronald took a steadying breath and nodded, stepping away. “Okay, I’ll think on it for a while and try to chill with the idea. If I don’t walk away from you now, I’m just gonna start kissing you again and mess my head up more.”

Eric winked at him. “Take yer time. Ye know where ta find me.”

Ronald bit his lip and gathered his unfinished paperwork, so he could finish it at his cubicle or in Grell’s office. Eric was too sexy and smelled too good to be around right now.

~xox~

-To be continued


	14. Chapter 14

A few days later, Ronald couldn’t stand it anymore and he decided to approach his mentor for some romantic advice. He went to Grell’s office during lunch and he locked the door before sitting down in the chair on the other side of the crimson reaper’s desk.

"Senpai, can I talk to you about something?"

Grell looked up from the sandwich he’d been about to bite into and he nodded. “Of course, darling. I take it you aren’t just here to have lunch with me?”

"Nah, not today. I’m afraid I’ll puke if I try to eat."

Grell’s vivid brows furrowed with concern. It was unusual for reapers to get ill unless suffering sleep deprivation or pregnancy. “Have you been to a doctor?”

"No. I know what this is." The boy sighed and leaned back in his chair, threading his fingers behind his bed. "It’s nerves. I think I’m about to do something that’s gonna change my life pretty hardcore."

"Please tell me it isn’t a transfer to another department," said Grell seriously. "You simply can’t leave me, Ronnie."

Ronald grinned and shook his head. “Nothing like that. I like my job and I’d be bored to tears doing strictly desk work. You’re stuck with me for a while.”

"Well thank sweet mother death for that," sighed Grell. He opened up his sandwich and he sprinkled some salt and pepper on it. "What’s this all about, then?"

Ronald considered his words carefully, wanting to feel his mentor out before spilling the beans. Grell could be protective of him and he might not react very well to Eric getting involved with him, seeing as he was older. “If Spears-Senpai had ever been more…you know…receptive and ya had the chance to be with him back before you hooked up with Undy, would you have?”

Grell snorted. “Are you seriously asking me this question Ronald? Of course, I would have. I believed he was the man of my dreams, before I met my sweet, silver madman.”

"So then you’d get it if I decided to date a coworker, right?"

Grell looked confused. “You already date coworkers, silly boy. You date them all the time!” He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed as he waited for Ronald to respond.

"Yeah, but those are all ladies from other departments. This one’s in Dispatch and he ain’t no lady."

Grell blinked, his chewing motions pausing. “Hmm?”

Ronald sighed and took his hands out from behind his head, sitting up straighter. Might as well just spit it out. “It’s Eric.”

Grell was nearly the one to “spit it out” then, and he coughed and sputtered: “Ewic?” around his half-chewed bite of food.

"Now before you freak out," cautioned Ronald, "just remember we’ve been spending a <i> _lot_ </i> of time together and this didn’t just pop up out of nowhere. Well, it kind of did but not really.”

Grell finished swallowing his food and he took a drink of flavored mineral water from the bottle on his desk. “You had better explain quickly Ronnie; before I decide to reap the man. I thought you preferred the company of women!”

"I did! Or at least, I thought so," defended Ronald, "and don’t go trying to reap him, either! He didn’t do anything wrong."

Grell sighed. “How did this come about, Ronnie? I know we’ve both been trying to encourage the handsome lion to seek out romantic company, but I don’t understand.” He eyed the blond slyly suddenly and revised his opinion. “Or perhaps I do. You’re around Alan’s size and build. Eric seems to fancy the young, cute ones.”

"He’s not interested in me because I remind him of Alan," insisted Ronald. "He made that pretty clear. Look, a couple of weeks ago we were out partying and I asked him what it was like to kiss a guy, because lately I’ve been wondering if I might be missing out on something by only dating girls, you know?"

"I never knew this." Grell pouted. "Why wouldn’t you come to me first?"

"Because you weren’t there at the time and Eric used to be kind of a Casanova, before he got with Alan. I figured he’d be the guy to ask. Anyway, he kissed me—"

“ _What?_ ”

"—and there were sparks," Ronald went on, ignoring the outburst. "And I mean huge, honking sparks. It made me realize two things. First, I never felt that kind of connection before and second, I like guys after all. Yeah, dating girls is fun and all, but I’ve never felt anything like this before. So a few days ago I told Eric I was confused, right? I thought he only did it as a favor to show me what it was like, and I was really messed up over it. Turns out he likes me too and well…I _have_ been trying to get him to start dating again. Why not do it with me?”

"Because…you’re so young," Grell stammered. "Ronald, I can certainly appreciate the appeal of a man like Eric. If anyone can convince a man to try the grass on the other side of the fence, I’ve no doubt it’s him. Still, he has issues."

"So do you," Ron pointed out.

"Brat. I’m just feeling maternal toward you. Are you certain this isn’t a symptom of spending so much time with him?"

"I spend a lot of time with you and other Dispatch agents too, but I’m not hot for any of them like I am for Eric."

"Yes darling, but we haven’t kissed you."

Ronald smirked. “I _know_ you understand what ‘the spark’ is, Senpai. You’ve got it with Undertaker. You can’t dream that shit up—especially when you’re not expecting it.”

Grell considered his words, and a dreamy little smile curved his lips. “Ah yes…the spark,” he sighed. “The sort of kiss that makes one’s toes curl and body sing.”

Ronald nodded. “That’s exactly it. It hit me like a lightning bolt. It’s scary and I don’t want to risk our friendship, but…what if I never get this spark with anyone else? What would _you_ do?”

Grell laughed. “Oh darling…you truly are in trouble, aren’t you?”

Ronald sighed and gave him a plaintive look. Grell reached over the table and patted his hand. “Don’t give me that ‘sad puppy’ look. I understand how you feel, now that you’ve explained better. I think the one thing that makes romance so difficult for our kind is that because we don’t age and die like mortals, a bad relationship can result in hurt that lingers for an eternity. Frankly I would have been happy if you’d been content to just date casually for the rest of your life and avoid that risk, but I suppose that would be unrealistic of me.”

He sighed and sat back, looking at the photos of his husband and child on his desk. “Ronnie, if your heart is telling you to go for it, then I say you should act on that. Eric Slingby is a fine man and a good agent, even when that Gaelic temper of his sparks up. Goodness knows, I can’t criticize anyone on rash behavior. He treated Alan like gold, and I’m sure he would do the same with you. Just bear it in mind that Will is not going to tolerate any tension it might cause in the work place if things don’t go as you hope and you part ways with each other.”

"Yeah, I know. He says he’ll always be my party buddy no matter what, but…it’s still one of the biggest things I’m worried about."

"And you’re right to be concerned," assured Grell. "You know, if William and I didn’t already have such a volatile relationship to begin with, I would have worried about that myself—had he ever responded to my advances. Just try to be careful and guard your heart, Ronnie. Encouraging casual dating is one thing, but Eric is still in mourning and you may find yourself trying to compete with his deceased lover. Don’t allow that to happen. Even the beginning of this new romance between you two reminds me of how he and Alan first got together."

Ronald grimaced. “I didn’t know that.”

Grell shrugged. “Well, the details varied I’m sure, but he and Alan started off as supervisor and trainee, then friends, and then lovers. Not to say you’re following in Humphrie’s footsteps, but just make it a point to drop him subtle reminders here and there that you aren’t Alan. Neither of you need him projecting such a standard on you.”

"No way," agreed Ronald. He started to feel a twinge of excitement and nervousness. "Thanks, Senpai. I know what I want to do now."

Grell chuckled. “Get something to eat before you rush off to claim your man, Ronnie. We don’t need you falling into Will’s bad habits and neglecting your basic needs.”

Ronald grinned at him. “Okay, Mommy.”

Grell threw a napkin at him.

~xox~

After lunch, Ronald was dispatched with Eric to a small English town, where several victims of animal attacks had already been reaped and their records collected over the past week. It was night time in the mortal world, and the moon was full in an increasingly cloudy sky. It was a gloomy little place with monotone colored cottages and morose residents. The two reapers conducted a brief investigation of the place before checking the death list assigned to them.

"Looks like we’re partners now," said Eric as they trod the path leading out of the village. There was a scent of blood and rain in the air, and a light spring drizzle began to fall.

"Yeah, looks like it," agreed Ronald. He smirked up at the taller man at his side. "I could do worse."

The Scotsman chuckled and checked his watch. "We’d better pick up tha pace. Our mark is due ta fall in about three minutes.”

"Yeah." Ronald poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he checked the coordinates, then pulled out his navigation device to see how far they were. "Shit…I think we might have to run for it, Eric."

Dispatch suspected that there were demons lurking about this area, so it was important for all assigned agents to get to their marks as soon as possible. Eric nodded and grabbed his arm. “Then let’s do tha’.”

Together, they began to run, checking their location as they went to be sure they wouldn’t miss the predicted coordinates of the next death. Eric had a longer stride than Ronald so he was in the lead, but the smaller reaper was more nimble and he hopped over obstacles that his companion simply plowed through. The clouds parted briefly just as they heard a terrified male scream, a horse’s whinny and a terrible crash. They arrived at the scene of an overturned wagon on the winding forest road, just in time to find the victim choking his last breath. A balding, portly man he was, with wisps of graying brown hair. His dark eyes briefly flicked to the approaching death gods and they widened in recognition as his departing soul sensed what they were there for. Those eyes locked in death, staring sightlessly beyond Eric as the Scottish reaper knelt before him and examined the ledger in his hand.

"Edgar Rand," said Eric, sparing a glance at the mess that the mortal’s attacker had made for him. More writing appeared on the death list. "Killed by an unknown beast at tha stroke o’ ten twenty-three, London time."

Ronald came to a halt and when he saw the entrails of the man spread out all around him and the gaping wound in his chest, he turned a little green. “W-Where’s the horse?” he asked, gesturing at the overturned wagon. 

Eric looked up, his eyes following the road. The wagon hitch had broken and it appeared that the animal had dragged it behind as it fled. He nodded at the distant, equine figure rounding the bend to the east, just before it vanished into the forest. “Off ta greener pastures, I s’pose.”

The drizzle came back, and Eric took his glasses off and wiped them to clear the water before he readied his death scythe. “A’right Ronnie; you document an’ I’ll collect. Let’s get it o’er wi’ so we can get out o’ this nasty weather.”

"Thought you Highlanders liked this kind of weather," Ronald observed, obviously trying not to look too closely at the corpse.

"Tha’s a generalization," corrected Eric absently. He made the first cut and he began to gather the glowing reels of the cinematic records. "Write tha report, Ronnie."

Used to Eric adopting a more business-like demeanor when on a job, Ronald dutifully watched the victim’s life events and wrote them down while his partner gathered the records and kept them from going wild. They worked well together, accomplishing their task within five minutes time. When it was finished and it was time to add any special notes, Ronald shrugged.

"A wild animal spooked the horse and went after the driver when the wagon fell over?" he suggested.

Eric frowned at the body as a distant howl filled the air. “I dinnae think this was jus’ a common animal, lad.”

"What do you mean? Think it was diseased or something?"

The Scotsman smirked at the simplistic theory. “Come an’ have a closer look. Tha moon’s come out again, so yeh can see better.”

Ronald made a face. “Uh, I really don’t want to have a closer look.”

Eric twisted around a little to look up at his reluctant young companion. “Ye’ve got ta grow thicker skin, Ronnie, if yer going ta keep climbing tha ranks. Come an’ look. Ya need ta see this.”

Ronald sighed and did as instructed, squatting down beside his new partner to look at the gory remains. He swallowed and went pale again. “What am I s’posed to be looking for?”

"Ye’ll see if ya jus’ take tha time ta examine him."

Ronald compressed his lips and shot Eric a glare that said he’d get him back for this, but the older reaper just waited quietly for him to do as instructed. The smell was awful, and Ronald’s stomach churned as he forced himself to survey the entirety of the ghastly deed. He noticed something on the man’s arm beneath the torn-off sleeve, and he narrowed his eyes. It looked like a bloody handprint, and it was much larger than the dead merchant’s hands. The handprint circled his arm and ended in claw marks.

"What the hell? What kind of animal around here has paws like hands?" His first thought was that maybe some kind of bird got him. Talons were kind of similar to human hands…but he’d never heard of any birds that large in these parts.

There was another howl further in the distance, and Ronald looked at Eric. The Scotsman was looking around alertly, keeping his death scythe out. “It was no animal,” said Eric. “Least no’ tha natural kind. Werewolf.”

"Uh, didn’t they say they suspected demon activity in the area?" Ron put a hand over his stomach as it rumbled, and he swallowed to keep his gorge from rising. "Maybe it was a demon dog."

Eric shook his head and looked down at the body again. “Good theory, but I’ve seen this before. Tha’ odor yer smellin’ is piss, Ronnie. Werewolves piss on their kills ta mark their territory, an’ there’s a tuft of fur in this fella’s hand tha’s got no trace o’ demonic aura on it.”

"Th-they pee on their own food? Aw man, talk about adding insult to injury. Now I’m _really_ gonna puke!”

Eric reached out for him as the younger reaper turned away and retched on the ground. He patted his shoulder consolingly as Ronald got sick. “Sorry ta put ya through tha’, Ronnie. It’s jus’ somethin’ yer going ta have ta get used to in our line o’ work.”

"I know," coughed Ronald when he’d emptied the meager contents of his stomach. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief from his pocket and he let Eric help him to his feet. "Blood doesn’t bother me and I’ve seen some pretty mangled bodies, but that was…I mean with the entrails and the smell…ugh!"

Eric put a supportive arm around him, still holding his scythe ready and keeping a wary eye out. “We’ll put it in our report. Demons they’d want dealt wi’, but werewolves are ano’er matter. We’ve done our task so—”

There was a rustle in the underbrush to the left, and Eric cursed as a huge black form came hurtling out at them, knocking both reapers to the ground. His scythe got knocked from his hand and Ronald rolled several feet away from him, dazed from striking his head on a rock when he fell. He shook his head to clear it and he felt around for his glasses as a snarling, razor-fanged beast prepared to pounce him.

~xox~

Eric saw what was about to happen, saw the biped, lupine form going after his young partner, and a fierceness arose within him. Some things you couldn’t fight, like a deadly curse brought on by feeling too much empathy for reaping targets. Others like flesh and blood werewolves were another matter. With a growl, he sprung after the werewolf and tackled it. Ronald had replaced his glasses and he stared with wide eyes at the spectacle of Eric wrestling with the creature.

"Ronnie, get back!" shouted the older reaper, struggling to keep the wolf-like maw of sharp fangs away from his throat.

~xox~

_~”Get back”, he says…yeah, right!~_

Like he was really going to let that thing make werewolf kibble out of his friend. Ronald winced as Eric punched the snarling, green-eyed monstrosity in the muzzle and it actually yelped. The man had a mean swing, he could say that for sure.

"Hang on," he yelled, and he called forth his death scythe.

There was one problem though; he couldn’t easily dispatch the werewolf without risking cutting Eric, too. “Shit! Uh…” He looked around for something to use…some way to distract the beast and get it off Eric long enough to reap it.

~xox~

Eric yelled as the werewolf’s teeth sank into his shoulder, and he grabbed it by the ears and forced it’s head back while he kneed it in the ribs. He heard Ronald shouting insults such as: “Your mom was a Chihuahua” and “Your fur looks like roadkill” but the werewolf evidently didn’t care. Ronald even picked up a stick and whistled, before throwing it into the woods, apparently getting the idea that maybe it would go chasing after it.  Now that it had a taste of reaper blood, its attacks grew more ferocious and the ebony paws kicked at Eric’s torso, tearing his clothes in an effort to disembowel him like the human victim.

"Ronnie, jus’ reap it!" Eric gritted his teeth as blood poured from the bite and scratch marks, and he was thankful that Shinigami weren’t so easily ripped apart as humans.

"But I’ll get you too if I do that right now!" argued Ronald.

"I can take a nick er two," grunted Eric, "Jus’ stop tryin’ ta play fetch wi’ tha damned thing!"

"But it’s not just gonna _be_ a ‘nick or two’,” shouted Ronald back. “I could grind up your whole fucking arm!”

Ronald kicked at the creature’s side desperately—which finally distracted it enough to snap at him. He jumped back hastily and his scythe roared to life just as Eric got his used the brief opportunity to tuck his legs in between his body and the lycan’s, and he kicked out. He was able to get enough leverage to propel the creature away from him. Ronald didn’t need any prompting to follow up with his lawnmower, and the werewolf got a face full of rotating blades before it could recover to make another pass against either of them. Blood sprayed and there was a teeth-jarring grinding sound as bits of bone flew. The werewolf convulsed and cinematic records spilled free as the creature reverted back to human form, naked and female. Her face was completely shredded but her body was young.

"Oh, it was a girl," Ronald said, surprised. "Eric, you okay?"

"Gather tha records," grunted the Scotsman as he struggled to his feet. His shoulder was bleeding from the fang punctures and his torso was likewise dripping red, but the injuries were already beginning to heal. "She wasnae on th’ death lists; we’ll need ta turn in her reels."

Ronald grimaced, aware of the rules against reaping mortals not on the death lists. “Think we’ll get in trouble?” He began to gather the records and draw them into his scythe.

"Fer defending ourselves on tha job? Doubt it." Eric limped over to him and he patted him on the shoulder. "There are exceptions."

The both tensed when more howls came from deeper in the forest, and they seemed to be getting closer. “Guess we’d better hurry and get out of here,” said Ronald.  He finished drawing the records from the dead lycan and he looked at Eric with concern. “Hey…you’re not going to end up turning into one of these now, are ya? She bit you.”

Eric glanced down at his damaged shoulder and he shook his head. “They’ve go’ a vaccine they can give me ta prevent tha’ from happening. I’ll probably have ta have a couple of ‘em. Jus’ so I get treated a’fore tha next full moon, I’ll be fine.”

"Sounds like you’ve been through this before," observed Ronald. He started to create a portal to get them back to their realm.

Eric smirked. “Just a bit, aye.”

"Nuts," teased Ronald. "I was looking forward to taking you for walks in the park."

"Sorry ta disappoint ya," chuckled the older reaper painfully. "But if ye want, I’ll let ya put a leash on me anyhow." He winked at Ronald and stepped through the portal with him.

~xox~

William stopped in his tracks on his way out for a reaping assignment when he saw the condition of the two reapers porting in. Eric Slingby had one arm around Ronald Knox’s shoulders for support, and Ronald in turn had an arm around the taller man’s waist. Eric’s shirt was ripped to shreds and there was an angry, large bite wound on his right shoulder. There were nasty looking scratches on his half-bared torso, slashing down from chest to hip. He looked as though he’d been mangled by a bear. Both of them were filthy as if they’d rolled around in the mud, and there were bits of leaves and grass in their hair.

"What’s all this?" demanded William as he met them halfway down the steps.

"Werewolves," answered Ronald simply. "We kind of had to kill one of them, but we got her records. The animal attacks in that village they sent us to aren’t animal attacks after all."

William’s gaze flicked to Eric. “You were bitten?”

The Scotsman glanced down at his shoulder with raised brows. “Well it’s no’ a hickey.”

William sighed and adjusted his glasses. “Go straight to the infirmary, then. You can turn in your reports after medical staff has seen to you. Do try to be more careful in the future, Slingby. How many times does that make that, now?”

"Er…four even, I think." Eric tried to shrug, but the motion obviously pained him and he groaned.

"Go on," dismissed William. "Make sure they increase the dosage. Honestly, the last thing we need is a werewolf on our staff."

~xox~

Ronald waited until the medics finished cleaning Eric’s wounds and left them alone for a moment, before voicing his curiosity over William’s comment. “Hey, what was that all about out there?”

Eric looked up from the bite he was inspecting. “Eh?”

"What Spears-Senpai said about them increasing the dosage, and not needing a werewolf on the staff," elaborated Ronald. He kept staring at the Scotsman’s chest and admiring his muscle tone, and the fine dusting of golden hair on it. He started lowering his eyes but then his gaze was trapped by the treasure trail of hair starting below Eric’s navel to vanish into his trousers. Ron blushed and looked away entirely.

"You sure you aren’t going to wolf out on us?"

Eric laughed softly and shook his head. “I already told ya, they’ll give me a few shots an’ I’ll be fine.”

"But…you’ve been bit a few times before." Ronald looked at him again, forcing himself not to let his eyes wander.

"Aye." Eric nodded. "Four now. They’ve got ta bump up tha dosage a bit if it’s been under four years since yer last bite."

"How the hell do you keep getting bitten by werewolves?" demanded Ronald in confusion. That was the first encounter he’d ever had with one of the beasts.

Eric shrugged and immediately winced at the motion. “As Al used ta say; I’m a lion. I s’pose I like wrestling with dogs.”

Ronald sighed and sat down on the stool beside the examination table. “I’m being serious for once. I really want to know.”

Eric sobered and smiled at him in that fond way he’d begun doing recently. “I’ve been around a spell, Ronnie. Longer than Spears, Sutcliff or most o’ tha reapers yer used ta socializin’ wi’ in Dispatch. Ye’ll have more run-ins wi’ lycanthropes, witches, vampires…maybe even some fey, as time goes on. There’s more ou’ there than demons, reapers an’ angels, lad.”

"So it’s not like some kind of sport for you then," pressed Ronald, "wrestling with werewolves?"

Eric laughed again and shook his head. “Nothin’ like tha’. Promise.”

Ronald relaxed and grinned. “Good. ‘Cause if you need to wrestle with someone to blow off a little steam, I’d rather it be me.”

"Oh would yeh now?" Eric looked intrigued. "Then have ya thought on wha’ we talked about?"

Ronald was about to answer, his pulse quickening with nervous excitement…but then the doctor came in with a tray of filled syringes and he clamped his mouth shut. His eyes widened when he saw the size of the syringes, and he gulped. “ _Six_?”

The doctor glanced at him and smiled. “We need to stay on the safe side, Agent Knox. Two injections for each incident closer than four years apart. Agent Slingby, you know the drill. Are you ready?”

Eric sighed, his rueful gaze flicking to Ronald. “Aye, but when yer done, I’d like a moment wi’ mah partner ta talk.” His expression said he didn’t intend to drop his earlier question to Ronald.

"All right. Try to hold still while I deaden it with a local."

Ron’s eyes bugged out again as the doctor picked up a smaller syringe and approached his partner to begin injecting the clear medication directly into the bite area. “You…you’ve got to give him the shots right where he got bit?”

Eric grimaced slightly as the needle went in. “It spreads from tha saliva, so tha fastest way ta counteract tha’ is ta put it in where tha bite happened.”

"Is he gonna have to do the scratches, too?"

"No, Agent Knox," answered the doctor in a distracted tone. "The biggest danger of lycanthrope scratches is infection. My staff has already given Agent Slingby the necessary antiseptic and antibiotics."

He continued to inject around the site, and Eric took it stoically. Ronald had to look away, having no love for needles. “Ouch. Man, I feel so green.”

"Ye’ve no’ been a Dispatch agent fer long," excused Eric. "An’ yer climbing tha ranks fast. Ya won’t be ‘green’ forever Ronnie, an’ yer a good reaper ta have at mah back."

Ronald smirked in pleasure at the praise. He’d outgrown the other reapers he’d been partnered up with, before they assigned him as Grell’s trainee. He finally had a real partner and his promotion to officer status was just around the corner, if he kept doing his job right. He heard Eric hiss in pain as the needle went in at a particularly tender spot, and he impulsively scooted closer to take his hand. Eric looked at him, gave him a somewhat strained little smile and returned the pressure of his hand.

It was painful just to watch the doctor administer the rest of the shots, but the local anesthetic evidently deadened the tissue enough that it only caused Eric some slight discomfort. When he was finished, he bandaged up the injuries and he handed the Scotsman a list of aftercare instructions.

"You remember the side effects, Mr. Slingby?"

Eric nodded. “Night sweats, chills, nightmares, meat cravings, dizziness…I remember.”

"Very good, then. Should you suffer any adverse effects while on the job, I advise you to take some time off until it fades. The vaccine will neutralize the symptoms within a few days. Contact me if you need a doctor’s excuse for work, and remember to pick up your antibiotic prescription on the way out."

"Thanks, doc. Hopefully ye won’t see me in here fer this again too soon."

"Let’s hope not. Take it easy for the rest of the day."

The doctor left them alone again, and Eric looked at his ruined shirt and blazer with a sigh. “Guess I won’t be wearin’ that set again.”

Ronald looked down at his own uniform and he tugged at the sleeves of his jacket. “I’d offer you my blazer to put on ‘till you get to your office, but I don’t think it would fit you.”

"Prolly not," agreed the Scotsman. "Maybe I could get ye ta go up t’ my office an’ grab one o’ my spare shirts from tha’ closet in there…but first, I’ve still go’ a question for ya."

Ronald smirked, trying to calm the suddenly increased pounding of his heart as Eric squeezed his hand again. “Thought you said you could wait.”

"An’ I can," assured the older reaper, "but ye had a look about ya, while they were treatin’ me. Was I imagining tha’? Wishful thinkin’, maybe?"

Ron chuckled and shook his head. “Man, you’re good. No, you weren’t imagining it. I…I think I want to give it a go.”

Eric’s smile touched his green-gold eyes. “Aye? Don’t be givin’ a man hope fer somethin’ yer not sure about, Ronnie.”

The younger reaper winked at him, still a little giddy about voicing his decision aloud to him. “I’m not a tease. When I’ve decided I want something, I go for it.”

Eric chuckled, and he surprised Ronald by drawing his hand to is lips and planting a kiss on top of it. “Good ta know.”

It should have seemed like a weird gesture, but it seemed chivalrous and caring to the younger reaper. “I’m totally going to kiss you now,” he warned as he got off the stool and closed the distance between their mouths.

"Tha’s what I like ta hear," teased Eric with a grin, just before their lips met.

~xox~

"So, what’s been going on in the office lately, darlin’?" Undertaker asked Grell a couple of days later. He retrieved their daughter from the cradle and he patted her back as he began to carry her to the kitchen.

Grell followed, admiring the sight of the mortician from behind while at the same time lamenting the length of his silver hair for covering his backside. “Well, nothing terribly exciting,” admitted the crimson reaper, “that is if you don’t count the change in Ronnie’s relationship with Eric.”

Undertaker put Ophelia in the high chair and he grinned and twiddled his fingers at her as she made grabby-hands at him. “Papa’s just getting supper for you, Muffin. I’ll be right back.” He went over to the refrigerator and he selected a toddler meal of strained peas and carrots. “Yeah?” he said to Grell as he opened the container and dumped the contents into a small saucepan for heating. “How’d that happen?”

Grell smirked and shook his head. “I really have no idea, darling. I suppose their closeness over the past year had a play in it, and Eric does seem to have a weakness for cute young fellows.”

Undertaker stirred the baby food and nodded. “Probably an ideal match, if you ask me. They know each other, they get along and the ‘Mustard Seed’ isn’t likely to try and upstage Mr. Slingby’s lost love.”

"Yes," agreed Grell with a nod. He leaned against the archway and he gave their squirming daughter his finger to squeeze. "I was initially opposed to it, but I think Eric will treat Ronnie well. One can’t help attraction."

Undertaker glanced at him, shaking his bangs out of his eyes with a smirk. “Was that a dig at me, love?”

Grell smiled and loosened his tie. “Not at all, my love. I haven’t regretted our relationship for a single moment. You make me feel…cherished.”

The mortician smiled and walked over to him, cupping his chin and lowering his mouth to Grell’s. “And you deserve exactly that, my dear.”

Grell accepted the kiss and he put his arms around the taller reaper. “I do so love you, my shaft of love.”

Undertaker snickered under his breath. “Oh my, I just can’t help it,” he excused when Grell poked him. “You’re adorable, my sweet.”

"Ba! Ba-ba!" Ophelia caught hold of some of Undertaker’s trailing hair, giving it a demanding tug. He smiled down at her and he bent over to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"And ‘Ba-ba’ loves his other lil’ darlin’ too, sweet," he assured her.

~xox~

-To be continued


	15. Chapter 15

Time went on, and by the time two more years had passed, Undertaker’s shop had a second story to it to accommodate the family needs for space. Eric and Ronald were still going strong, and William was still busy as always. Grell expressed some concern over that, but it seemed he’d never convince the man to take some time off and try living for a few days. True to his word to his deceased first love, Eric remained an active participant in Ophelia’s life, watching over her as diligently as if she were his own. As her god parent, he often babysat her one or two weekends out of each month, to give her parents a chance to have date nights together.

She was a lovely child, and there was little doubt she would grow into a beautiful woman. With Undertaker’s eyes and Grell’s vivid hair, everyone predicted that she would attract plenty of suitors when she matured—which bothered Undertaker to no end. Her personality, however, might deter some of them. She had personality traits from both of her parents that she’d blended into her own, and she certainly wasn’t afraid of speaking her mind. A clever girl, she employed witty sarcasm whenever she found something a person said to be idiotic. She quickly learned, however that “Uncy Ewic” wouldn’t put up with being smart-mouthed.

"Wow," remarked Ronald when he came over one night while Eric was babysitting her. "I think the kid listens to _you_ more than she listens to either of her folks.”

Ophelia had started to throw a fit when Eric refused her a second helping of ice cream, and he quickly put her in her place by threatening not to sing her any more lullabies to her. She was still pouting by the couch, but she’d stopped yelling about it.

"Guess I can’t blame her," said Ronald with a smile and a little stretch. "You’ve got a nice voice."

"Don’ tell anyone," warned Eric with a wink. "They might get it in there heads I’m unmanly."

"Not possible," countered Ronald. He picked up Ophelia’s current favorite toy—a stuffed Rabbit plushy that William had broken a major rule to obtain for her and subsequently ended up with his death scythe temporarily confiscated as punishment. He squatted before the toddler and offered it to her with a smile. "There ya go, kiddo. Play with Peter for a while."

"Pete!" said Ophelia, making grabby-hands for the bunny.

Ron chuckled as he relinquished the toy to her and stood up again. “So you’ve got her for the night, eh?”

Eric nodded. “Aye, but you could stay as well.”

Ronald grimaced with regret. “Can’t. I want to, but I only had time to drop by for a smooch. I’ve got overtime again.”

Eric frowned, checking his watch. “Tha hell? On tha weekend? This time o’ night?”

Ronald scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. “Uh-huh. Spears-Senpai made me come in at noon and I’ve gotta stay ‘till midnight. I…kind of goofed.”

"What’d ye do, Ronnie?" It was common for Spears to slap overtime duty on agents that screwed up on the job, but he usually spread it out and made them stay a couple hours late each night.

The blond glanced at the child on the floor and he nudged his companion. “Talk to ya in the hallway for a minute?”

Eric nodded and he spoke to Ophelia. “Stay righ’ there, button. Uncle Eric an’ Uncle Ronnie have tae talk grown-up things.”

"Kay," she agreed with a yawn, evidently getting worn out. She put her bunny on the floor and laid down, using it as a pillow as she sucked her thumb.

Once they were in the hallway, Ronald stuck his hands in his pockets. “I got careless,” he explained. “While you were turning in our reports yesterday, do ya remember me going with Spears Senpai on another assignment ‘cause we were so booked up?”

Eric nodded. “Yeah.”

Ronald sighed and shrugged. “I guess I was tired…or just eager to get the day over. Anyhow, the mortal we went to reap was just a kid…about Ophelia’s age. I made the cut and the next thing I knew, I started thinking: _'What if this was her?'_ …and I started feeling bad about reaping the kid.”

Eric closed his eyes and groaned. “How many reels passed through ya?”

"Not many," assured Ron. "Two, maybe. Senpai intervened before they really did any damage, but he was super pissed."

"As well he should be!" Eric dragged his fingers through his hair. "Ya cannae do things like tha’, Ronnie. Even if ya break free, if enough of ‘em…if it happens too many times…" He swallowed and cursed under his breath.

"I know, I know," Ronald tried to sooth, "and I’m okay! See, this is why I almost didn’t tell you. I knew you’d react like this." After all, Alan had died because he empathized too much with his assignments and contracted the curse as a result.

"But…Spears-Senpai got hit the same way when he was around my age," reasoned Ronald. He reached out to cup Eric’s strained face in his hands. "He’s never gotten Thorns, and according to Sutcliff-Senpai he got hit with a lot more than I did."

"Tha’s no’ tha point," mumbled Eric. He put his hands over Ronald’s and he took a steadying breath. "Why do ye think I’m always tryin’ tae make ye step out o’ yer comfort zone when we’re on assignments together? I dinnae do tha’ with Alan an’ he got hit with ‘em several times, understand? His sympathy did tha rest."

Ronald’s brows drew together. “You blame yourself for what happened to Alan?”

"I…maybe," answered the Scotsman with a sigh. "I cannae help but wonder if he might still be alive, if I’d worked harder on helpin’ him separate his feelings from his job."

Ronald shook his head and kissed him. “No, that was up to him. It’s up to me, too. I’ll be more careful, babe. Guess I just personalized it with that mark. That usually never happens to me.”

Eric closed his eyes and nodded. “Swear it, Ronnie.”

Hating to have opened old wounds like this, Ronald kissed him again, more lingeringly this time. “I swear. I’ll be the coldest, meanest reaper I can be when I’m on the job. Well, maybe not as cold as Spears-Senpai, but…”

That made him frown in thought. “Hey, I wonder if _that’s_ why he’s so cold all the time? Maybe he’s scared he’ll get the Thorns.”

"According ta Grell, Will’s always been detached." Eric shrugged. "It’s no’ him I worry about."

"Well stop," chided Ronald. He almost told him that he’d never put him through that again, but that might sound bad against Alan. It wasn’t Humphries’ fault he died…not really. It wasn’t Eric’s fault, either. It was a rare but potential hazard of the job, just like madness and suicidal tendencies. He slid his hands down Eric’s neck and he rubbed his tense shoulders with a smile. "I’ll be okay. Promise."

Eric stared at him for a moment, conveying with his eyes what he wasn’t ready to speak aloud. It wasn’t lost on Ronald. He felt the same, but he didn’t want to say it out loud yet, either. Maybe if they lasted another year he’d come out and say it, if Eric didn’t before then. The taller reaper lowered his mouth to Ronald’s and kissed him. It started out soft, like the whispering wind. Then it deepened and got more intense, reminding Ronald a bit of a gathering storm. When Eric’s tongue slipped into his mouth, the gale was there, and Ronald moaned softly into Eric’s mouth at the fierce desire in that kiss. Eric took the smaller man’s hands off his shoulders and pinned them against the wall, his bigger fingers lacing with Ronald’s. It was reminiscent of that first night he’d kissed him and blown him away.

When he had Ronald squirming and lusty, the Scotsman broke the kiss and stared at him, his green-gold eyes now bright with yearning. “If I din’t have tha kid here…” He let the comment trail off, and Ronald didn’t need to guess where he was going with it.

"Yeah," he sighed. Squeezing the strong hands that still held his pinned against the wall. "And if I didn’t have to be back at work." He glanced down at the tent in his uniform trousers. "Aw, man…look what ya _did_ to me!”

Eric laughed and winked at him. “Least now I know ye’ll be thinking of me while yer burning th’ midnight oil.”

"Hmph. Jerk."

~xox~

A few days later, Ronald came with Eric to visit Alan’s grave, after work. They stood over the gravesite solemnly for a while after the Scotsman placed a mixed bouquet of some of Alan’s favorite flowers in the vase fused to the headstone, and the chill in the breeze made Ronald shiver a little. Eric glanced at him and opened his long jacket to enfold him in it partially.

"Thanks fer comin’," murmured Eric. Spring was just beginning, and the Erica flowers had begun to bloom around Alan’s grave; as they tended to do each year. He kept his eyes on the bouquet of lilacs, bluebells and lilies adorning the vase. It still pained him to look at the blue-violet wildflowers that Alan had identified so much with, before he ever understood just why. He never included them in his bundles when he visited, because there was no point. The Erica’s seemed to stay with Al even after death. Maybe they kept him company.

"It’s okay." Ronald leaned closer to him for warmth.

The wind picked up, and there was the smell of rain on the air. Eric looked up at the clouds rolling in from the west as they began to block out the sun. “We should wrap it up an’ go,” he said softly. “Before we get rained on.”

Ronald nodded. “Ready when you are.” He patted Alan’s headstone. “See ya later, Alan. Don’t worry; I’ll try to keep him out of trouble for you.”

Eric gave a pained little smile at his words, and he reached out to caress the cool stone of the grave marker. “Sleep sweet, love.”

With a little sigh, he urged Ronald into motion and the two of them walked back through the landscaped paths to the parking lot. They got into Eric’s car together and as they buckled up, he turned to regard his companion in the passenger seat. He hesitated, and Ronald looked up from his task of securing his buckle with mild concern.

"You alright?"

Eric wasn’t sure how to answer that. His heart always ached after visiting his deceased partner’s grave, but he knew he’d feel worse if he didn’t. He also knew he needed to move on and live his life, even though he would never stop missing Alan and honoring his memory.

"What’s on your mind?" Ronald said softly. "Talk to me, big guy."

"Does it bother yeh tha’ I still keep photos of him ‘round th’ house?"

"Of Alan?" Ronnie looked a little surprised, and he shook his head. "Naw, it doesn’t bother me. He was my friend and I’d never expect you to erase all traces of him just for me. I’m not that insecure."

Eric smirked a little. No, Ronald Knox could never be accused of being insecure. He could get flustered now and then and on rare occasion, he could be endearingly shy. He could also be nurturing and sweet. Eric reached out to run his thumb over Ronald’s cheek, before cupping his chin and leaning in for a kiss.

"I love ye, Ronnie," he murmured against his lips after kissing him.

Ronald blinked at him as if he thought he was hearing things. “Y-yeah?”

Eric smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I’m no’ jus’ saying it.”

That faint blush that was generally so much harder to provoke in him than it had been for Alan made an appearance over Ronald’s cheeks. “Okay…totally unexpected but…wanted. I mean, I’ve been kind of hoping ya’d say that some day ‘cause I wasn’t sure how you’d feel if I said it first…but…ah, shit…I love you too, Eric. Wow, that came out easier than I thought it would.”

Eric chuckled. “Same here. I think we’re s’posed tae kiss again now, or somethin’.”

Ronald grabbed the older Reaper by the tie and pulled him closer to comply with that statement. Neither of them started groping because it didn’t feel right in such a setting, but the kiss they shared was enough. 

~xox~

Four more years came and went, and Ophelia grew in both mind and body. Now at the age of six, Ophelia was attending grade school in the Shinigami realm. Still under the average size for her age, she nonetheless held her own against bigger kids that might bully her—but the Shinigami schooling system was much more controlled than any mortal one, and due to sparse amount of children born to their race, she didn’t have many schoolmates to begin with.  She could be sharp-tongued and it got her into trouble at school. Strangely enough, it was her father that tried to be the voice of reason when this happened, because Grell tended to side with their daughter no matter what she did.

"Darlin’ we’ve talked about this," Undertaker admonished her when she came home with a note from her teacher during her second week of the new semester. "We can’t have you getting suspended again."

"But _you_ always say what you’re thinking, Papa,” she reminded him with a pout.

"I’m as old as dirt," excused the mortician with a chuckle. "I can get away with it because people just assume I’m an eccentric old fart—and they aren’t entirely wrong. You, however, are just starting out in life and I’d rather not have you stuck here getting home-schooled. Not that I wouldn’t love having you around all day, poppet, but a young girl should have friends…other girls and boys her own age to play with."

"But I _like_ spending time with you,” she persisted. “I don’t like leaving you to go to the other place every day.”

_~I don’t care much for it either, sweet.~_

The ancient reaper didn’t say as much aloud to his daughter. “But there’s much to be learned in that ‘other place’, my dear; things you could never learn at a mortal school.”

She climbed into his lap with a sigh and grabbed his braid as he shifted in the armchair to accommodate her. “But you didn’t want me to go to th’ other place, when it was time for me to start school.” Ophelia laid her cheek against his chest and toyed with the single braid.

Undertaker grimaced at the memory. No, he hadn’t been happy to see his small daughter off to her very first day of school in the Shinigami realm. He hadn’t wanted to let go of her hand, and it took Grell’s admonishments to make him finally release the child and allow her homeroom teacher to escort her away with the other first year students.

"No, I really didn’t," he admitted, "not at first, anyway. It was harder than I expected to leave you in the care of strangers."

"Why don’t you like the reaper world, Papa?"

He rocked her gently and smiled. “Darlin’, we’d be up all night, if I tried to explain all the reasons to you. Let’s just say Papa’s had his fill of that place and its advanced marvels. I prefer the simpler life here in the mortal realm.”

She lifted her head off his chest and regarded him curiously, one crimson, wavy lock of hair falling over her eye. As he smoothed it back for her, she brushed his bangs out of his eyes too. “What if Mama wants to go live there again?”

"He seems happy to stay here," assured Undertaker with confidence. "Mama spends the better part of most days of the week there. Here in this place, he can escape the noise and the hubbub of that metropolis."

She crinkled her nose. “But mortal London’s loud too!”

He laughed and nodded. “Indeed it can be, muffin. Still quieter than the Shinigami realm though; and quainter.”

She shrugged. “Well _I_ don’t think so, but you’re a stubborn old coot.”

He playfully gave her a light chuck under the chin and grinned at her. “What a dreadful thing to say to your Daddy.”

She giggled and poked him—which prompted Undertaker to begin tickling her mercilessly until her shrieks could be heard from the street outside.

~xox~

William stopped at the doorstep of the mortuary. It had been a long time since his last visit to this place, and he looked at his companion with faint uncertainty. “You are certain this is a good time of day to be visiting?”

Ronald stepped up next to him and he nodded, ringing the pull bell. “Sure, I’m sure. I visit all the time. It’s about time you dropped by to see Grell and his family outside of work. I know he’ll be happy to see you, and Ophelia likes you a bunch.” Being an officer of Dispatch now, he’d stopped referring to his elders as “senpai” for the most part—but he still slipped back into it now and then—especially when he got down with his boyfriend and felt a little kinky.

William grimaced. “It isn’t the two of them that worry me.”

Ronald laughed and stepped back with him as they waited for someone to come to the door. Undertaker’s shop was closed on the weekends; otherwise they’d have just walked in. “Undertaker’s pretty much over his jealousy of you. He won’t bite…hard.”

The door opened, and a pretty little girl with vivid red, spiral curls stood on the other side. She was wearing a pink dress with black trimming, black stockings and pink patent leather shoes. She smiled up at Ronald familiarly, her cheeks dimpling in recognition.

"Uncle Ronnie!" She held her arms out demandingly, and he knelt down to give her a hug of greeting.

"Heya, kiddo. How’s your weekend going?" He patted her doll-like curls and straightened back up.

"Boring," she sighed. "Mama says it’s too rainy for me to go out in my new dress, so I’m havin’ a tea party with Peter and Miss Priss."

The blond smiled sidelong at his boss. “A tea party, eh? Well, I’ve brought a friend with me today. Do you remember Mr. Spears?”

The little girl looked up at the tall, immaculate gentleman politely nodding at her in greeting. “He’s your boss,” she said, pointing a finger covered in a pink laced glove at him. “The kill-joy!”

William flushed a bit, and Ronald grinned sheepishly and shrugged at him. “Eh, he’s not that bad. Uncle Ronnie just exaggerates, sometimes.”

Ophelia put her hand down as if remembering something, and she nibbled her bow-shaped lips. “Sorry. Mama tells me it’s not polite to point.” She bobbed a somewhat awkward curtsey to William in greeting. “How do you do, sir?”

William’s lips twitched slightly—the only sign of amusement his cool mask would allow. He graced the child with an elegant, formal bow in return. “Very well, Miss Ophelia. I trust the day finds you well?”

She shrugged, apparently unable to maintain a “ladylike” demeanor for only so long. “I don’t know how the day finds me, but _I_ find _it_ dreary and dull.”

William’s lips twitched again. “Quite clever. Well, Ophelia; may we come in?”

"Of course!" She stepped aside for him and William and she cleared her throat. "Do come in, gentlemen. My parents are busy, but I can entertain."

Charmed in spite of himself, William inclined his head. “Why thank you, young lady.”

Ronald smiled behind his hand as he followed his superior into the house. Not even William could armor himself completely against Grell’s little daughter’s antics.

~xox~

Ophelia wasn’t allowed to boil the kettle herself to prepare tea, so she asked William to help her. Ron chuckled as his boss left the parlor to assist in the kitchen as requested. She was trying to feel him out. William was the “new guy”, since the last time she’d seen him up close was when she was only three. Ophelia always requested that unfamiliar guests talk with her and help her with small tasks. She was an observant little girl and it was her way of figuring out whether she trusted people or not.

Apparently, she found William both trustworthy and interesting. After they prepared the tea together and brought it out with the sugar and cream, she sat with them to enjoy the beverage. It was then that both men noticed the increasing noise from somewhere in the back of the house. Ronald figured it out right away when he recognized the sounds for what they were. The bumps, creaks and distinctive moans of passion. William, however, was so detached from ordinary human interactions that he didn’t immediately understand.

"What are they doing back there?" he asked naively, "moving furniture?" He took a sip of his tea.

Ophelia shrugged. “Having sex.”

William choked on his tea and Ronald snickered behind his hand at the girl’s nonchalant, frank explanation. “You okay there, boss?” he patted the supervisor’s back as he coughed.

William nodded. “F-fine,” he managed, face reddening with scandal. “Ophelia, I’m not certain a girl your age needs to be privy to such…adult information.”

She furrowed her brows and crossed her ankles. “Why not, Mr. Spears? Mummy and Daddy both say it’s natural, and nothing to be ashamed of. That’s what mummies and daddies do together to share their love and make babies.”

"Oh, so they’re trying for another?" Ron said with a grin.

The girl shrugged. “They want to make me a little brother or sister. Daddy told me all about how reproduction works, so I won’t be afraid when I grow up and get married. He says most girls don’t understand how their own bodies work and he wants me to be comfy with mine.”

"I…see," murmured William, blinking. "How very…progressive of him."

"Well I think it’s a good thing," said Ron with a shrug. "At least she’ll know if she’s getting short-changed by her husband on her wedding night. Most gals wouldn’t…least not the human ones."

"Can we please shift the discussion in a different direction?" William suggested uncomfortably.

"Sure," said Ophelia with a grin. "You’re blushing, Mr. Spears."

"Yes, I am aware." William cleared his throat. "So…how is your schooling coming along, young lady?" He tried to ignore the increasing volume of Grell’s cries, but it was rather difficult. 

"Undy…oh, _Undy_! Ravish me, my love!”

William flushed redder. “I think I may step outside for some fresh air. Please excuse me.”

Ronald and Ophelia watched him go, and the blond shook his head with a chuckle and winked at the little girl. “He’s just kinda shy. He’ll be okay.”

"He’s silly," giggled the girl.

~xox~

Grell came out in his scarlet robe and slippers, looking utterly satisfied. He smiled at Ronald as the boy stood up to give him a hug. “How have you been, darling?”

"Good," answered the blond. "Will came with me, but he stepped outside for a minute."

"Oh?" Grell poured himself a cup of tea from the tray on the table.

"You and Papa’s sex made him embarrassed," informed Ophelia with a grin. "I like him…he’s funny!"

Grell raised a crimson brow. “Will? Funny? Precious, I think you have him confused with someone else.”

"Nuh-uh! He got all red-faced and nervous. He’s cute!"

Grell chuckled. “Well, I cannot argue with that last observation. Ronnie, will the two of you be staying for dinner?”

"Sure," agreed the blond. "What are we having?"

"Undy’s making up a casserole. There should be plenty for your man join us, if he would like to come over."

"I could call and ask him," said Ronald. "He’s out apartment hunting right now. Maybe he’ll finish up in time to come over, or at least take a break ‘till tomorrow."

Grell grinned at him slyly. “So the two of you are finally going to move in together?”

Ron grinned back and nodded. “Yup. Both our places are too small to fit all of our stuff in together, though, so we’re looking for something bigger.”

"I’m happy for you both," said Grell. "I was wondering when that man would finally come to his senses and move in with you."

Ronald shrugged, smiling as he lowered his eyes. “Like I said, it wasn’t for a lack of want; we’ve both just got too much stuff now to fit in a single bedroom flat. Don’t forget he’s still got all of Alan’s old things, too…’cept for the clothes he donated.”

Grell glanced at his daughter, who was heading for the exit to the shop. “Where are you going, sweetums?”

"I’m gonna go check on Mr. Spears," she called over her shoulder, "and tell him he can come back in again ‘cause you and Daddy are finished."

Grell smirked with amusement. “Oh, so _that’s_ why he went outside.”

When Ophelia was gone, the redhead turned back to Ronald and he sighed. “Willy truly needs to get laid, I think.”

Ronald snorted. “You and everyone else in the office. The man’s so uptight he probably can’t even relax long enough to take a shit.”

Grell giggled and slapped his arm. “Ronnie, that’s awful.”

"It’s true, though," insisted the blond. "Spears-Senpai wouldn’t know a good time if it bit him on the rear! We all try to get him to go out and do stuff besides work, but he’s always too tired by the time the day’s finished. I don’t think he’s taken a single day off for over a year. Forget about trying to set him up on dates, too…that’s been tried."

Grell sighed and took a seat in the high-back lounge chair, crossing his legs. “Poor, dear Will. You know, sometimes I wonder if that man is still a virgin.”

"T’cha…I wonder if he’s even got a sex drive," joked Ronald.

Grell looked up at him with a smile. “You are definitely my pupil, Ronnie. I once said the same thing to Undertaker, just after our wedding. Well, if a life alone is satisfying to him, I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it.”

"Shh, I hear him coming back in," warned Ronald as the shop bell rang.

Grell smirked and when William came in with his daughter through the door separating the shop from the house, he stood up and approached him. “Will, I was wondering when you would get around to coming by, darling!”

The brunet stiffened as Grell hugged him. “Yes well…Knox invited me to come with.”

Grell pulled back with a grin. “And you’ll be staying for dinner, of course.”

The brunet looked uncomfortable with that. “I have paperwork I should try and finish.”

Grell waved a hand negligently and put an arm around Ophelia’s shoulders as she hugged him around the hips. “Put it off for once. Visit with us for a while outside the office. A few hours for a break won’t hurt anything.”

William looked around. “And where is your husband?”

"In the kitchen, preparing dinner." Grell gestured at the couch. "Have a seat and stay, Will. I’ll just go and change into something a bit less comfortable."

William sighed, but he didn’t argue.

~xox~

Eric showed up with a bottle of wine just as Undertaker was finishing up in the kitchen. He immediately got glomped by Ophelia as soon as she opened the door for her, and he laughingly scooped her up and gave her a kiss on the cheek, somehow managing to hold onto her without dropping the bottle.

"How are ya, sweetheart?" he asked the girl as she put her arms around his neck.

"I got in trouble at school again," she informed him. She played with his blue-tinted glasses, taking them off his head to try them on herself. "Oooh, Uncle Eric…can you _see_ without these?”

"Better than most reapers," he assured her, shutting the door behind him with his foot. "Now put those back on me," he scolded. "Ye don’ want tae be wearin’ those. Ye’ll mess up yer pretty little eyes."

She sighed and complied, knowing better than to disobey the Scotsman. She rested her cheek against his shoulder as he carried her through the shop to the separator door. “Mama says I’ll have to wear glasses too, some day.”

"Aye, tha’s true," confirmed Eric with a nod. She’d replaced his glasses crookedly, but he couldn’t adjust them with his arms full of the child. "But when ye’re old enough, ya can earn a custom pair made by Father Anderson himself. Just do good wi’ yer studies an’ try ta excel, no matter where ye get placed in the corporation."

"I know." She pouted a little. "But why can’t I get custom frames whenever I want?"

“‘Cause they’re a privilege, no’ a right,” he explained. “Every reaper has tae earn his or her special frames, Ophelia. Dinnae worry to much, though; there’r plenty of nice frames out there fer ye ta pick from, when it’s time fer yer first pair.”

She smiled. She loved the way her Uncle Eric talked. “How come there aren’t more Scottish reapers in London reaper land?”

He shrugged and shifted her in his arms. “Hold this bottle fer me, an’ don’ drop it.”

She did so, and he answered her as he opened the door to the house. “Most o’ my kin prefer tha Belfast branch o’er workin’ with Englishman, when given a choice. The Irish are a little looser, an’ a bit more like us.”

"Oh." She chewed her lip in thought and squirmed to get more comfortable in his arms as they stepped through into the foyer. "So why did _you_ come to London, then?”

"It was a transfer program," he explained. He smirked. He’d _hated_ adjusting to London at first, but then he got assigned a promising new agent to train, and once he got to know Alan…that was that.

"Do you ever feel homesick?" she wondered.

Eric shook his head. “No’ really. This is ma home now, an’ I mean tae stay.”

She smiled and hugged his neck. “Good. I’d be mad at you if you went away.”

He chuckled and gave her a little squeeze, now that he had his hands free again. “No’ much chance o’ tha’ happenin’ now, button. I’ve go’ ma boyfriend an’ a good job.”

"And me!"

He grinned at her. “Aye, an’ you.”

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," said Ronald when the Scotsman came into the parlor with the little girl.

"More like tha wee girl dragged in," corrected Eric with a smile. He eased Ophelia back to the floor and he took the wine from her as his boyfriend approached him for a hug and a quick smooch. Noticing William sitting on the sofa, he nodded. "Evenin’ boss. Decided tae come see how folk live outside th’ office, aye?"

William glanced up from the newspaper he was browsing through. “Good evening, Officer Slingby. Yes, I have been invited to stay for dinner.”

Eric sighed. The man might as well be an automation, at times. “Wull, where can I put this?” he held up the bottle of red Moscato as Grell came back in from the dining room, surprisingly dressed in a pair of burgundy trousers, a matching vest and a red silk shirt. He usually preferred to dress as a lady in the mortal realm.

"Hello handsome," greeted the redhead with a sharp grin. He crossed the room to take the bottle from Eric. "I’ll just put this away in the kitchen, for now. Why don’t you relax for a bit, until dinner is on the table?"

Eric nodded and took a seat with Ronald on the loveseat. “Thanks.”

Grell looked down at Ophelia. “Sweetykins, go and set the table for us, while I assist your father.

Ophelia crawled into William’s lap without warning. “But I wanna stay in here with them! Uncle Willy, would you read from the paper for me?”

William grunted as her knee dug into his hip, and he moved the paper to make room for her. “I…don’t believe any of these articles would appeal to a young girl.”

"I can be soapcated! Mummy, tell him!"

Grell laughed softly at his daughter’s attempt to say “sophisticated”, and he clucked his tongue. “Leave Mr. Spears alone, Ophelia. I’ve asked you to help prepare for dinner; now go and do it.”

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, still situated on William’s lap.

"Ophelia," Eric said with a raised brow.

The child looked at her godfather and she whined. “B-but—”

Seeing the stern look on his face, she sighed. Climbing back off of William’s lap, she went to her mother’s side. “You’re all mean.”

"Sometimes being ‘mean’ is part of being an adult, darling," Grell said, and he patted the girl’s bottom to get her moving. "Now go and do as you’ve been told."

As Ophelia stomped off, her shoes slapping against the wooden floor, Grell looked at Eric with a slightly tired smirk. “I really don’t know how you do it, Slingby. Undy and I always have to debate with her over everything we ask her to do, but she _listens_ to you.”

"Tha’s because I dun’ let her butter me up," chuckled Eric, putting an arm around his partner. "You two cannae seem tae stick wi’ yer guns, an’ she knows it."

The redhead compressed his lips.

"Now dun’ get offended," advised Eric, spreading his hands. "I know she’s yer only child an all. Jus’ makin’ an observation."

Grell sighed. “Oh, fine. I suppose we spoil our little darling a bit. Perhaps we could stand to be a bit more strict with her. I’ll just go and check on dinner, now.”

~xox~

"I understand the two of you are moving in together," William remarked to Eric as they sat down to dinner.

"Tha’s right," Eric said as he passed the basket of rolls down. "Think I might have found us a place, too." He winked at Ronald.

"Yeah?" Ronald scooped up some casserole onto his plate. "Where—"

There was a sudden crash from the kitchen, followed by Undertaker’s swift curse. “Whoopsie,” called the mortician. He poked his head around the corner with a grin. His silver locks were pulled back into a ponytail, but his bangs were hanging over his eyes as usual. “Er, Grell, love…we may have to do without the pie for dessert tonight. I had a butterfingers moment. So sorry.”

Grell sighed. “It can’t be salvaged?”

The mortician looked back into the kitchen, then poked his shaggy silver head out again and shook it. “Afraid not, my dear. Unless our guests want to eat it off the floor.”

Grell pouted and so did Ophelia. “Drat. I was looking forward to it.” He looked at his dinner guests. “Undy makes a cherry pie that’s to _die_ for.”

"Not to worry," called Undertaker amidst the clatter of activity in the kitchen. "I’ve still got plenty of cookies, and there’s also ice cream!"

"That will be fine," said William politely. "Now Eric, you were saying that you located a place for you and Ronald?"

"Aye, on tha’ east side of town." Eric sprinkled some salt over his casserole and passed the shaker to Ronald. "Decent neighborhood near tha ocean, wi’ shops just a block away. I thought I’d take Ronnie here tae check it out tomorrow an’ see what he thinks."

"As long as it has a closed shower," sighed the younger blond. "I’m so sick of the one in my flat."

"Shower an’ bath," assured Eric with a grin. "Two bedrooms an’ a smaller room fer a home office, too."

"Sounds great," enthused Ronald. "Finally, a grown-up’s apartment!"

"You are far past due for it," agreed William with a smirk. "How you’ve managed to live in that hole you’ve been in for so long without going mad is still a mystery, to me."

Undertaker emerged from the kitchen, and he’d taken his hair down again. He took his seat beside Grell and he rubbed his pale hands together greedily as he eyed the food. “Not a bad spread, if I do say so. Oh…the wine.”

He started to get up again, but Grell stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’ll fetch it, my love. You’ve been slaving away in the kitchen, after all. Sit and eat.”

Undertaker smiled at him. “Don’t mind if I do, then. Ophelia, hand Daddy the rolls, please.” To Ronald, he said: “I heard some of the conversation. Congratulations, Ronnie. You too, Eric.”

"Thanks." Ronald beamed happily and it was obvious how excited he was. He looked at his partner. "And I’d love to go have a look at the place with you tomorrow, babe."

"Oooh, can I came too?" Ophelia asked hopefully.

"Eat your food, muffin," Undertaker reminded, just before spooning up a bite and stuffing it hungrily into his mouth. Grell returned with the wine and he poured a glass for all of the adults, before taking his seat again.

Eric and Ronald looked at each other and they both shrugged. “I dinnae have a problem wi’ tha’, if yer folks are fine wi’ it.”

The little girl looked between her parents with shining eyes, bouncing in her chair a little. “Can I? Can I?”

Grell paused with a bite of food halfway to his lips, and he looked at Undertaker. “Well, I don’t think we have anything planned tomorrow, other than a visit to the park. Darling?”

Undertaker shrugged and mumbled around the food in his mouth. “Fime bah me.”

"Then we’ll pick her up after lunch," Ron decided. He was useless in the mornings on weekends, when he didn’t have to go into work.

Eric pointed his fork at the child and circled the air with it. “On certain conditions. Ye behave yerself. Nae whinin’, runnin’ around like a wild thing in tha apartment or shriekin’. Get it all ou’ of yer system a’fore we come pick ya up, bonnie lass, or that’ll be tha last time we take ya on an outing fer a while.”

Ophelia made a cross over her heart and grinned, looking very much like Grell at that moment. “Promise!”

William smirked slightly, guessing she was going to be a handful when she reached the age to join the reaper academy. “Good luck, gentlemen.”

~xox~

They next day as promised, Ronald and Eric picked up Ophelia and brought her with them to reaper London to inspect the apartment Eric had picked out. She brought Peter with her and the couple promised her an ice cream treat afterwards, if she behaved herself as promised. The apartment manager was a Shinigami man of indeterminable age, with collar-length, sandy brown hair and a winning smile. The apartment complex was a high rise, ten floor building and the unit was on the fourth floor.

Ronald looked around the empty interior as Eric discussed the lease agreement with the manager. “Place looks sharp,” he muttered to himself, impressed. Leave it to Eric to find a place with some class. The building was fairly new, with all appliances, aether cable, phone lines and internet access. The living room was spacious and the kitchen was bigger than either his or Eric’s current ones, with black marble countertops and dark wood cabinets. It had a sophisticated feel about it. The master bedroom was twice the size of Ronald’s, with a walk-in closet and a half-bath connected to it. The master bathroom was what cinched it for him. Not only did it have an enclosed frosted glass shower, but the tub was large and equipped with water jets.

"I thought you’d be higher," Ophelia observed as she looked out one of the windows in the living room. "Oh! There’s a balcony, Uncle Ronnie!"

"Wait kid…don’t go running out there on your own," said Ron hastily as she started to struggle with the sliding glass door. He hurried to her side and he flipped the latch to unlock it, before taking her hand. "Okay, let’s have a look at the view."

"Yeah!" Ophelia squeezed his hand and went with him as he stepped out onto the railed balcony.

Ronald’s feathered hair stirred in the breeze and he inhaled deeply, smelling the sea. This side of the building offered an ocean view, and he could smell the saltwater in the air and hear the distant waves crashing against the seawall. Planters lined the balcony, containing some sort of flowering, grassy plants that Ron couldn’t identify. Ophelia ran her hands over the fronds curiously and chatted with her bunny while he surveyed the view.

He gave a start as a warm presence suddenly came up behind him and strong arms embraced him. “What d’ya think?” murmured Eric into his ear.

"Oh yeah," Ronald said with a grin, turning his head to look at the handsome face hovering over his shoulder. "I could get used to a place like this. Sure we can afford it, though? This reminds me of the boss’s place."

"I did some number crunching an’ yeah, we can afford it wi’ both our salaries," assured the Scotsman. He planted a kiss at Ronald’s temple. "Jus’ won’t have as much petty cash tae toss away on partying."

Ron shrugged, surprisingly un-disturbed by the notion. “I don’t need to stay out all night partying every chance I get anymore. I’ve got more responsibilities and sometimes I’d rather just have a quiet night in with you.”

His eyes widened with horror. “Oh shit…I think I’m growing up.”

Eric laughed softly and gave him a squeeze. “It happens.”

"Just don’t let me turn into Spears-Senpai, okay?"

Eric nuzzled his temple. “Ne’er. Ye know, Ronnie, jus’ cause you’re growin’ up doesnae mean yer dead. We can still party, still laugh, still love…”

The Scotsman’s teeth teasingly nibbled his ear, provoking a shiver and a sensual thrill. “An’ we can christen this balcony properly some night, too.”

Ronald grinned, suddenly glad that Ophelia had seen fit to go back inside while they talked. His imagination painted a sultry picture for him, and there was definitely some appeal to the thought of getting shagged cross-eyed by his lover right here under the moonlight. “I’d have to keep quiet,” he teased in a low voice. “Ya know how noisy I can get when you’re giving me the big guns. Don’t want to get us evicted for noise disruption and indecency on our first week here.”

Eric chuckled again. “I think I can manage tae keep yer noise in check, sweetheart.”

~xox~

They put down a deposit that day, and over the next week after that, they moved their belongings from their old apartment into the new one. It was hardest on Eric. Once he’d cleared the last of his and Alan’s things from the place they’d shared together, he stood in the foyer of the now-empty apartment and his mind swam with bittersweet memories. There was the spot in the living room where they used to play cards. Over to the left was where they’d made love, right there on the floor in celebration of Alan making it to officer status.

So many memories. It felt like he was leaving a piece of Alan behind. Eric’s eyes stung and he rubbed them beneath his glasses.

"Okay, that’s the last of it," said Ronald as he came back in. "Ready to go, big guy?"

Eric composed himself with effort, swallowing. “Aye.”

Ronald was too attuned to him by now to miss the thickness in his voice, and he approached him with a softened expression on his youthful face. “Hey, are you all right?”

"Fine," said Eric, forcing a smile at him.

"Bullshit." Ronald looked him in the eye. "What’s up, Eric?"

Feeling guilty for suffering another moment of pining loss, the Scotsman shrugged. “I jus’…this was where Al and I built our lives together. I know it’s a good thing tae move on an’ all, but I…jus’ didnae expect it ta hit me like this.”

Ronald looked around, then back up at him. “Come here,” he ordered, putting his arms around him.

Eric embraced him and took a shivering breath. “I’m sorry…”

"It’s okay," assured Ronald, stroking his broad back comfortingly. "I’ve told ya before, I’m not insecure enough to be jealous of Al’s memory. You’re totally allowed to have these moments, babe. I don’t expect you to forget him or pretend he was never in your life for my sake, okay?"

Eric nodded and swallowed, letting his partner comfort him. “It’s s’posed tae be a happy day, though.”

"Still _can_ be,” insisted Ron, pulling back to smile at him. “Just ‘cause you’re taking a moment to remember your first love doesn’t mean the day’s ruined, right?”

Eric nodded, lowering his gaze. “Yeah…I s’pose.”

Ronald patted his arm. “You know, if you need more time it’s not too late. We could still back out of it and move everything back—”

"No," interrupted the taller reaper with a shake of his head. "I’ve had my time tae grieve an’ adjust. We deserve this place we’ve gotten together…we’ve _earned_ it. I know Alan would be happy fer us.” He sighed. “An’ I know he’s in ma heart…no’ in this building. Let’s go, so I can drop off tha keys ta th’ landlord.”

Ronald nodded and patted him on the back as Eric turned and walked out the door. For a moment, the younger reaper hesitated, looking into the apartment as he stood at the threshold. He could practically hear Alan whisper in his ear to take good care of Eric, and Ronald smiled and nodded.

"Promise," he murmured, and then he followed his lover out and shut the door behind him.

~xox~

-To be continued


	16. Epilogue

_**Author's Note:** Yikes, this chapter took a long time to write! Hopefully it doesn't seem "rushed", but I was running out of plot for this story and I thought it was best to wrap it up than to keep writing domestic filler just to make it last longer. There are many possibilities for a sequel, so perhaps when I've completed other unfinished projects I can revisit this series._

~xox~

Grell and Undertaker kept trying for another baby as time went on, but it seemed they weren’t going to have any luck. Considering the birth rate of their kind was already low due to their long lifespans, they tried not to let it discourage them. Doctor Francis assured them that Grell should be quite capable of conceiving again eventually, but it could take time. Meanwhile, Ophelia grew far too quickly for her father’s liking. Time seemed to pass so quickly, and the next thing he knew it was her sixteenth birthday.

"How in blazes did _that_ happen?” demanded the mortician as he finished up the birthday cake he’d baked for her and stepped aside for Grell to put the candles in.

Grell looked down at the skulls and roses drawn with purple and pink icing on the cake, and he smirked. “Apparently every parent goes through this. Couldn’t you have just come up with some kind of potion to keep her small forever, darling?”

Undertaker laughed and shook his bangs aside to see his spouse more clearly. “I think that would fall under the category of child abuse, love. We wouldn’t want Shinigami child welfare authorities coming down on our heads, now would we? Er…the candles go into the cake, not my pants.”

Grell realized what he was doing and he stopped with a laugh. “It’s hardly my fault that my love has such a mesmerizing gaze to hold a maiden’s heart captive.”

"I don’t think your heart was what guided you, there," snorted the taller reaper. He removed the black candle from the waistline of his pants, and he put it in the middle of the cake.

Grell smiled sharply and shrugged. “I have a voracious appetite for handsome men with bedroom eyes.” He placed a couple more candles, before eyeing his husband up and down. “And you look so dashing tonight.”

Undertaker glanced down at himself. For the special occasion, he’d worn a pair of black dress trousers, a deep purple silk shirt and a black vest. His eyes went to Grell again and he smiled, admiring him just as much. The redhead was in a lady’s attire in the latest London fashion; a dress of scarlet and burgundy, with a cinched waist and lacy ruffles donning the bust. A red ribbon was around his pale throat with a black and red cameo hanging from it. His hair was coiled into a fashionable, complicated pile on his head, with a ringlet dangling freely on either side. A pair of high-heeled lace boots were on his feet, matching the color scheme of the dress.

"You realize I’m going to ruin your pretty hairstyle later tonight, after the party," he murmured, putting one arm around Grell to draw him close for a smooch.

"So long as you don’t tear the dress, like you did the last time," purred Grell. He teasingly nibbled the taller reaper’s pale lips, having learned to do so delicately so as not to draw blood. "But you are always welcome to make a wreck of me, my gorgeous silver fox."

"Mm, I think I’ll take you up on that offer." Undertaker kissed him then, claiming his lips with passion that hadn’t abated in the slightest over the years.

"Oh brother…you two are at it again?"

The couple stopped and looked at their daughter, who had just come in to announce the arrival of their first guests. Grell shrugged and kept his arms around his husband’s neck, grinning shamelessly. “Be thankful that your mummy and daddy love each other so, princess. Not all couples make it for as long as we have without the fire going out.”

"Well, stoke your ‘fire’ after the party," said Ophelia, though she was smirking. Her hair was braided on the sides and pulled back to weave into a larger braid in the back, which fell to her waist with the rest of her wavy crimson hair. "Uncle William just got here and you both know how flustered he gets when you snog in front of him. Some of my friends from the academy have arrived too, and I don’t want them thinking my parents are a couple of sex maniacs."

"I can think of worse titles," chuckled the Undertaker, "but for the sake of your friends’ and Willy’s modesty, I’ll try to keep my hands off my lovely wife until we retire for the night."

Grell sighed. “Romance can wait, I suppose. We’ll be right in, darling. You look gorgeous in your new dress, by the way.”

Ophelia looked down at the outfit; which was from Shinigami London, rather than the mortal realm. The body of it was composed of black velvet and came to mid-knee, with purple embroidery up the sides. The sleeves were black lace and she wore a pair of knee-high black boots with purple laces and frills. The three-inch heels made her diminutive form appear a bit taller than it was.

"I should go outside in this," she said with a grin. "Imagine the looks on people’s faces."

"Let’s not do that," cautioned Undertaker. "The mortal realm isn’t ready for that sort of fashion, love. I don’t want to see you getting mean-mugged by the locals and accused of being a lady of the night…because if _that_ happens, daddy’s going to reap someone.”

"Unless mummy gets to them first," promised Grell. He frowned and put a hand over his belly as Ophelia’s perfume wafted over to him. "Oh no," he groaned.

Undertaker looked at him in puzzlement. “Something wrong, love?”

Without answering him, Grell took off out of the kitchen, nearly shoving their daughter aside as he rushed to the downstairs privy. He made it in there just in time and he went to his knees before the toilet, losing the breakfast he’d had that morning. Undertaker followed him in and Ophelia stood in the doorway with a concerned look on her face as the mortician squatted down to tuck the loose coils of Grell’s hair back, so that they wouldn’t get soiled.

"Ugh," complained the redhead when he finished heaving. "That came out of nowhere. What is that dreadful perfume you’re wearing, Ophelia?"

"It’s the same perfume I _always_ wear,” she protested. “It’s never bothered you before.”

All the sudden, Undertaker began to grin. “Grell…love…have you started feeling more sensitive in some areas?” He leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Like your nipples, for example?”

Grell blinked and looked at him. “Oh, yes! I…I thought it was just due to all the playing you do with them when we make love, but they _have_ been rather tender lately.”

The mortician’s smile grew. “Hmm. Tender nipples, sudden aversion to smells. Darlin’, I think our efforts may have finally paid off.”

"What are you talking about?" demanded Ophelia. "Mummy, what’s he going on about?"

With Undertaker’s help, the redhead got to his feet and flushed the toilet. “He’s talking about our family, Ophelia darling. I believe we may be due for another addition.” He grinned sharply and pressed a gloved hand against his lower abdomen.

"You’re pregnant?" she said, eyes widening.

"Well, let’s not jump to conclusions just yet," cautioned Undertaker, "but he’s got the symptoms. We can make a trip to see Dr. Francis tomorrow and confirm it."

Ophelia clapped her hands with excitement. She’d been wanting a little brother or sister for as long as she could remember, but they’d never managed to conceive. She would have liked to grow up with a sibling, but it was better late than never. “Oh my Styx! Wait ‘till I tell everyone!”

"Don’t go announcing it just yet," reminded her father with a chuckle. "Like I said; we can’t be sure yet. I don’t want everyone to get their hopes up, love, and your friends had a hard enough time accepting Mum’s anatomy for what it is."

"If they have a problem with it," she said with a scowl, "then they aren’t my friends."

"Darling, just keep it quiet for now," Grell insisted. "Your papa’s right. I don’t want to get overly excited until I know it’s for real, this time. We thought I was pregnant three years ago and it turned out to be symptoms of me simply being overworked."

"Fine," she huffed, "but the minute you get confirmation, I’m telling everyone!"

Undertaker grinned at her. “Fair enough, muffin. Now let’s get this birthday party underway. I want to see what kind of goodies you’ll be getting as gifts.”

"Daddy, you’re like a big kid," she scolded with a giggle, and she left them to go into the parlor and socialize with her friends.

~xox~

Ronald and Eric were running a bit late, but they arrived in time to sing “happy birthday” and watch Ophelia blow out the candles on her cake. Grell sliced it up and passed out the servings, and he smirked knowingly at his daughter when she hastened to bring William his piece. His amusement faded as he recalled a time when he’d been enamored with the handsome Dispatch supervisor himself, and he realized that his precious daughter might soon be in for some heartache. If it were any other man, he might believe she’d have a shot with him once she became an adult…but William seemed immune to any sexual desire or attraction. Others besides Grell had tried to catch his eye, but he was oblivious to it all.

"What’s that look for?" whispered Undertaker when he noticed Grell’s sudden, pensive frown.

The crimson reaper nodded at their daughter across the room, who was chatting with William as they ate and gazing at him with open admiration in her eyes. “I’m getting worried, my love,” he whispered back.

Undertaker followed his gaze, and he shrugged. “So she has a little crush. She’s at that age now, and plenty of girls go through the same stage.”

Grell sighed. “I hope you are right. I just know from personal experience how painful it is to be rejected by that man, and I don’t want the same thing to happen to our princess.”

"Er…I’d hope he rejects her, at her age," muttered the ancient. "If it were up to me, she wouldn’t date any boys ‘till…well…ever…but I at least hope she doesn’t get into any serious relationships ‘till she’s old enough for Dispatch academy. Last thing I want is a bloke that much older than her taking advantage of her infatuation. I’d have his bollocks if he tried."

"Now, now, darling," chuckled Grell with amusement. "Of all the men she could have chosen to crush on, dear William is probably the safest. He would never make advances on a teenaged girl, even if he does favor the company of ladies. Of that, I’m certain. What concerns me more is how oblivious he is when it comes to romance. I don’t want to see our daughter hurt. She will be an adult one day, and you know that age doesn’t matter so much with our kind, once adulthood is reached. I married _you_ , didn’t I? And you’ve been around since the dinosaur age.”

"Here now, I’m not quite _that_ old,” laughed the mortician with a playful poke in Grell’s side. “And she’s my daughter. It’s a father’s right to be protective of his little girl.”

Ronald sauntered over curiously. “What are you two talking about?” he pressed, having disengaged from two of Ophelia’s girlfriends that evidently found him cute. “And wow, I forgot how clingy teenaged girls can be. Eric’s no bloody help, either. Smart-ass thinks it’s funny.”

Grell smiled with amusement at the blond, unsurprised that Ronald could so easily draw attention from the girls. He was still quite young himself by reaper standards and his boyish looks hadn’t matured much over the years. “You should be flattered, Ronnie dear. Plenty of other men would be, to get so much attention from young women.”

Ronald scratched his head and cast an uncomfortable look over his shoulder—where the two girls in question stood whispering and giggling and watching him. He looked at his boyfriend and he glared when Eric smirked at him and raised his glass of brandy. “Ya know, a few years ago I’d be strutting over it, but things are different now. It creeps me out after watching your daughter grow up and all I can think of is ‘these girls are the same age as Ophelia’.”

"Well, at least you aren’t trying to return their affections," chuckled Grell. His gaze strayed to William again, who was trying to politely excuse himself from Ophelia to put his plate in the sink. She wouldn’t allow him to do it; instead she took it for him and ordered him to sit down and relax. Grell smirked at the brunet’s obvious discomfort, having come to know how to read Spears better than most over the years.

"So…sixteen, huh?" Ronald said, watching the birthday girl walk by. "Man, are _you_ guys gonna be in for it.”

Undertaker tilted his head curiously. “What’s that supposed to mean, Ronnie?”

The blond shrugged and stuck his hands into his pockets. “Means girls start getting up to things at that age. Maybe you’re too old to remember when _you_ were a kid, but I’m not…and the girls were almost as rowdy as us guys. I remember sneaking out of the dorms at school and meeting up with a group of ‘em to hang out and party every weekend.”

"Well, Ophelia isn’t living in a dorm," reminded Grell, "and we give her enough freedom that she shouldn’t desire to sneak out anyway."

Ronald snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Senpai.”

The redhead grinned and pinched Ronald’s cheek fondly. “I adore how you still call me that, even though you’re a senior officer yourself now.”

Ronald shrugged. “Old habits are hard to break sometimes. I guess a part of me is always gonna think of you as my Senpai.”

Ophelia spent some time with her friends while the adults broke off into groups and chatted. The teens begged Undertaker to show them his laboratory after a while, and he obliged them with a little tour. One of the girls lost her nerve when he offered to show them the body he had waiting in cold storage to be embalmed, but the three boys and the other girl stayed to look.

"That is so cool," one of the boys remarked; a tall fellow with light brown hair falling to his shoulders. His name was Jerald, as Undertaker recalled. "How’d he die, sir?"

Undertaker smirked. Ophelia had already told him that she suspected her small circle of friends never questioned or made fun of Grell’s anatomy because they were too intimidated by him and too respectful of Undertaker. “This one got shot in the back, in the dark,” explained the mortician. With a slight grunt, he rolled the stiff corpse onto its side so that the kids could see the entry wound. Holding it steady with one hand, he pointed out the hole.

"The Yard thinks it was an argument gone bad, but as you can see, it was a direct shot to the heart from behind. It also went in at an angle."

The girl that remained behind looked wide-eyed at the wound, adjusting her cat-eye glasses to see better. She grimaced. “What does that mean, Mr. Undertaker?”

He shrugged. “More likely than not, it means the poor sod was sniped from a rooftop. Someone was lying in wait for him; it was no chance encounter that took a turn for the worse. Could be a rival paid a professional to have him taken care of, or it could be he made off with something he wasn’t s’posed to have. Information, mayhap. You’d be surprised at how often Her Majesty’s secret service is the cause of death ‘round these parts, Anastasia.”

"Couldn’t you extract his records to find out for certain, sir?" asked a smaller, bookish young man with blond hair in the group. Undertaker couldn’t recall his name.

"Sometimes," agreed the ancient. "Most of the time I let the dead tell me their own stories though, because by the time they get to me, their records have already been collected by Dispatch agents or devoured by a demon. This bloke is an example of the latter, I’m afraid. Some hellspawn gobbled up his soul before any reapers got to him, so forensics is the best way to find out what’s what."

Grell came up behind the group and he gave them all a start when he spoke up. “And that’s something you will learn to watch out for, darlings. Those of you that make the cut to train as Dispatch agents, anyway.”

He put an arm around Ophelia and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Only the strongest, the fastest and the most cunning are fit to be soul collectors. I daresay your little friend who ran out of here isn’t cut out for the career.”

Ophelia smirked a little, glancing over her shoulder where said girl disappeared up the stairs leading out of the basement. “No, Chloe would never make it as a grim reaper. She gets queasy at the sight of blood.”

"Mm, probably more suited to clerical work, then," mused the Undertaker, "or something menial like food service." He repositioned the cadaver and zipped the body bag up. His was the only mortuary in London with such an advanced form of corpse storage—though he only made use of it when he couldn’t get around to embalming a subject right away and needed to delay decomposition in the meantime. He slid the body drawer on its track to store the subject back in its cold chamber, and he regarded the teenagers thoughtfully.

"Just remember there’s no shame in not becoming a Dispatch agent. You’re still Shinigami regardless of where your paths take you and reaping isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be." He grinned and spread his hands. "I should know."

"Yes sir," they said in unison.

~xox~

"Mum, Dad, can I go to the club in Shinigami London tonight with my friends?"

Grell paused with his ginger tea halfway to his lips—a brew made for him just moments ago by his husband to stave off nausea. The party was winding down and Ophelia’s friends were getting ready to leave. Ronald and Eric had already departed, after she opened her gifts. Grell suspected the former was eager to get away from the admiring eyes of Ophelia’s girlfriends.

"What sort of club, my sweet?" Grell raised a brow. There were a lot of nightclubs throughout the city on the other side, but he knew some of them allowed ages sixteen and up. Some served alcohol to those eighteen of up with proper proof of age, and some were alcohol free dance and music clubs.

She hesitated and gave him a pleading look. “Purple Moon?”

Undertaker overheard and he came up behind his wife, shaking his head. “Not a chance, muffin. Sorry, but you’ll have to wait a couple of years to go to that one.”

Ophelia made a miffed sound and stomped her booted foot. “They allow sixteen year olds, and they stamp your hand if you’re under legal drinking age! Why can’t I go? It’s my birthday, after all! You know I’ve been wanting to go there since forever!”

The mortician grinned. “You haven’t been around ‘since forever’, darlin’. Haven’t even been around long enough to leave a footprint, in fact. You’ve got an eternity. Two years more won’t kill you.”

The young reaper looked at her mother expectantly, putting her hands on her hips. “Mum? Don’t you have some say in this, too?”

Grell nibbled his lower lip with his sharp teeth, inadvertently drawing a drop of blood as he turned to look up at his silver mate. “Undy, I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt anything. They don’t serve alcohol to under-aged people, after all.”

"It just so happens that’s one of Ronnie’s favorite clubs," muttered Undertaker, "and I’ve heard tales about the goings-on that can happen there from him. Sorry m’dears, but my answer is still ‘no’. You can both pout at me ‘till the moon sets but I won’t budge."

Ophelia narrowed her eyes and in that moment, she looked very much like Grell. “You are such a…a… _hypocrite_! I have wine with dinner every night, and cider on the holidays! You’re going to deny me this just because they serve alcohol there? I can’t even drink it!”

"It’s not the alcohol that worries me," corrected Undertaker, straightening up to full height and frowning down at her. "It’s the effect it has on the fools that drink too much of it, love. You’re a very pretty girl and—"

"I can take care of myself!"

"—and I don’t want to find out you got arrested for reaping some barmy unfortunate that got it in his noggin to lay hands on you," finished the mortician without missing a beat. "Tell your friends to pick another club and we’ll see."

"But nobody _wants_ to go to another club,” she insisted, her pout growing more pronounced. “They want to go to the ‘Moon’, and so do I! I promise I won’t get into trouble. Maybe…maybe even Uncle Ronnie could meet up with us if it would make you feel better. He could bring me home at midnight.”

"Sweetums, let’s not volunteer Uncle Ronnie at such short notice," advised Grell. "Maybe another time. The last time we called him at this hour to ask a favor, he chewed my ear off through the phone." The redhead grimaced at the memory. He wasn’t used to Ronald Knox reading him the riot act, of all reapers.

"Interrupted his ‘Eric time’," chuckled Undertaker. He looked at their daughter. "Not tonight, Ophelia. I s’pose if Ronnie agreed to go with you another time so’s you wouldn’t have to be embarrassed by a parental escort, I could compromise. Plan it for another night and call him tomorrow to ask about it, if you’re so determined to go to that club."

"B-but we want to go tonight," whined Ophelia. "It isn’t fair!"

"You’re going to find there’s a lot of things unfair in life," advised Undertaker, "and the few rules we put down for you might seem like one of ‘em, but we’ve got our reasons."

Grell sighed. “You heard your father. Not tonight.”

Ophelia’s fists clenched on her hips and she made another shrill, frustrated sound. “Oh, I hate you both!”

Without waiting for a response, she whirled on her heel and stomped out of the dining area to go and report the news to her friends. Grell winced at the sound of her heels striking the floor. “She’s going to ruin those boots,” he predicted.

Undertaker didn’t much care about the boots. “’ _I hate you’,_ " he repeated with a mournful little frown. "Been hearing that more and more, lately."

Grell forgot about his concern for the nice new boots his daughter threatened to destroy. He put down his teacup and he got out of his chair to embrace the taller reaper. “Oh, she doesn’t mean a bit of it, my love. You are her daddy and she loves you. Everyone knows you’re her favorite.”

The mortician smirked ruefully. “We’ll see how long that lasts. I’ve always got to be the villain, these days.”

Grell chuckled. “I must admit, I never expected you to be as strict as you are…though I’m told we’re still far too lenient with her.”

"Then help me," begged Undertaker. "Don’t make me always be the one to say ‘no’, love. I hate denying the muffin things she wants, even if it’s for her own good."

The redhead sighed and reached up to comb his husband’s bangs out of his eyes. “You are such a big pussy cat.”

"Lucky you added the word ‘cat’ at the end of that one."

Grell chortled with amusement. “Well, of the two of us, you do have better parental judgment. I will…try…to be more assertive with her. It’s so very difficult though, because she could be the only child we ever have.”

Undertaker placed a hand over Grell’s stomach. “I’ve got a good feeling she won’t be.”

Grell looked down at the long, protective hand resting on his abdomen and he placed his smaller hand over it. “Then maybe this one will be a tad easier to raise.”

The mortician snorted. “Not if it takes after you, darlin’.”

Grell pinched him, making him jump. “That’s no way to talk to the lady of your dreams.”

He was swept up without warning then, and he put his arms around the taller reaper’s neck with a little cry of surprise. “Undy, how many times have I said not to do that without—”

Undertaker’s lips descended to his to kiss him soundly, instantly shutting him up. Grell sighed and blushed when the kiss ended. “—Warning,” he finished dreamily. He giggled when the mortician carried him out of the dining room and down the hall to the master bedroom, giving no explanation or pause.

~xox~

"Ya like that, hot stuff?" Ronald grinned down at his lover as he gyrated on top of him, provoking another groan of pleasure from Eric’s lips. His own breath caught as the angle of Eric’s answering thrust shoved right against that spot inside that made his eyes cross and evoked a whine in him. "Ah…unh…ya bleedin’ showoff!"

Eric chuckled and did it again, breath huffing as he lifted his hips—and the young blond straddling them—right off the mattress.

"Oh…oh fuck… _Eric_!”

Ronald could swear it felt like the man was driving right into his soul. Served him right for teasing a lover with such a big dick—and the skill to use it just right. “H-hold on a minute, babe…let me… _aaahh_!”

Eric had grabbed his hips and he started pumping firmly beneath him, nudging that spot inside every time. “Shit…oh hell,” Ronnie cried in surrender. “J-just take over, then!”

"Thought ye’d ne’er ask," purred the Scotsman, and he flipped Ronald over onto his back to begin pounding him, making him cry out with every thrust until he was practically screaming with pleasure.

Of course, it was right about when Ronald was reaching the precipice that Eric’s phone rang. “D-don’t answer it,” he begged, panting and clinging to his thrusting lover. “Oh gods… _please_ don’t bloody answer it!”

Eric didn’t seem inclined to go against his request…but then Ronald’s phone began to ring too, and the Scotsman slowed and stopped. “Could be…somethin’ important,” he wheezed.

"But…but…" Ronald grabbed at his companion’s ass, urging him to continue.

"Might be an emergency, Ronnie," reiterated the Scotsman with a defeated sigh. He didn’t withdraw from him, but he reached across the bed to his side for the phone on the bedside table.

With a groan, Ronald did the same. “For the record, this is totally unfair,” he whined, squirming beneath the powerful, tawny form pinning him down. “Not even sure I can concentrate to talk, with your cock rammed inside me.”

Eric just winked at him and balanced on one elbow to put the phone to his ear. “Slingby…an’ this better be damned good.”

At the same time, Ronald answered his phone. “Whoever y’ are, you’ve interrupted my smut! I hope this is about a zombie apocalypse or something!”

A familiar snicker answered the blond. “Oh my…I think I’d be the cause of that, lad. Sorry to interrupt your fun, but Grell and I have a bit of a problem.”

Ronald frowned and looked up at Eric, who whispered to him that he had Spears on his phone. With a sigh, the younger reaper nodded and returned his attention to the call—as much as he could, with his lover’s throbbing length still impaling him. “What happened?” he managed, eyes going unfocused as Eric shifted to balance himself better.

"Ophelia’s gone missing," answered the mortician. "Don’t suppose she’s contacted either of you, has she?"

Ronald’s frustration eased up at the news. “Missing how? And no, she hasn’t rung us up. Did someone _take_ her or what?”

"She snuck out, evidently," sighed Undertaker. "Li’l blighter. She’s not answering her phone, either. So anyway, we think she might have gone to that club on your side of the realms that she begged us to let her go to. I was planning to go have a peek and fetch her myself, see, but Grell…"

In the background, Ronald could hear his former mentor fretting, and he could just imagine him ringing his hands. “Yeah, better stay with him. No telling what he’ll get up to if you leave him alone.”

"This is all my _fault_!” Grell was wailing. “I’m a horrid mother!”

Undertaker sighed. “Rubbish, darlin’. You’re a better mum than most I’ve seen, even if we’re both a bit too indulgent.” To Ronnie, he said: “Hate to ask it of you chap, but would you mind dropping by that ‘Purple Moon’ club you like and see if you can find her? She’s more likely to come away with you and Eric without too much fuss than she is with either of us, anyway.”

Ronald grimaced; but he could already feel his lover softening inside of him. Evidently, Spears didn’t have good news either. “Yeah, sure. We’ll call and let ya know if we find her or not. Tell Senpai not to hyperventilate in the meantime, right?”

"Thanks, Ronnie. I’ll keep the bell close by to listen for it and try to calm down my lovely wife."

"Talk to ya soon," promised Ronald, and he hung up the phone. Eric had already ended his call and he gazed down at Ronald with a regretful expression. "I guess your call wasn’t much better than mine, huh?" guessed the smaller reaper.

"Will’s out lookin’ fer Ophelia," explained the Scotsman. "Seems Grell called him up all hysterical, ‘cause tha girl snuck out in tha night. Spears is checking all tha popular nightclubs fer reapers her age, an’ we’re s’posed tae check the ‘Purple Moon’."

"Got it." Ronald heaved a resigned sigh as his lover eased out of him and rolled off of him. "We’re taking up where we left off though, when we get back."

Eric grinned over his shoulder at him as he found his boxer-briefs and slipped into them. “Didja expect an argument from me, Ronnie?”

Ronald grinned back. “Nope. I’m just stating it for the record. Th’ minute we walk back through our door I expect your pants t’ drop. No questions asked.”

"An’ none _will_ be,” assured the Scotsman.

~xox~

Ophelia was having the time of her life. This was the first chance she’d gotten to show off some of the latest dance moves popular to this realm, and she noticed with satisfaction that she was getting plenty of attention from the guys. The glowing stamp on the back of her hand seemed to change colors with the lights as she gyrated and swayed with a group of her friends, laughing and shouting at each other over the music. It wasn’t the first time she’d snuck out of the house to go to reaper London, but this was the first time she’d done it to go to a club.

"Oh, I _love_ this one!” she cried enthusiastically as one of her favorite techno songs came on.

She lifted her arms and did a swaying, hip-thrusting dance to it, closing her eyes and smiling. She felt a masculine presence approaching her from behind, and she shivered a little at the intensity rolling from it. Was some boy about to ask her to dance with him…or grab her? Covertly, she reached up and touched her pendant—which had a hidden, tiny dagger in it. It was a gift from her mother in the form of a black rose. The stem was actually the hilt, and the rose was the sheath. If some guy intended to grope her, he was going to be very sorry for it.

A big hand landed on her shoulder and spun her around, and Ophelia immediately drew her tiny blade and turned, ready to stab with it. Another big hand caught hold of her small wrist in mid-strike and she found herself staring into Eric Slingby’s blazing eyes.

"U-Uncle Eric," she gasped, color draining from her face. "I was…just…"

"Put yer knife away," said the Scotsman. He looked at his watch, ignoring the gathering of her friends that stopped dancing to stare. "Ye’ve go’ two minutes tae say g’night and get outside, before I sling ya o’er mah shoulder an’ carry ye out. Got it?"

There was one person in the world that Ophelia didn’t have the gumption to argue with, and that was Eric. She nodded convulsively and she stared as he made his way back through the crowd without another glance. People parted for him like the red sea—much as they would have done with her father…except Undertaker didn’t intimidate her because she knew he was a big pussycat when it came to her and her mother.

"That’s your uncle?" said one of the girls Ophelia had just made friends with. Her eyes scanned the blond Dispatch agent’s broad, retreating back. "Nice."

Ophelia sighed. At least her parents hadn’t come in here to fetch her. They’d have made an awful scene—especially Grell. “He isn’t my _real_ uncle,” she explained. “He’s one of my god-parents. I just call him and the other one ‘uncle’ because they might as well be family.”

"You should see her _other_ fake uncle,” chimed one of the girls that had come to Ophelia’s party. “He’s soooo hot!”

"Well, they’re both gay and together," reminded Ophelia, "so don’t even bother! I…guess I ought to go and face the music. If I survive, I’ll see you all in school on Monday."

"Sorry you got into trouble, Ophelia," offered Chloe. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," sighed the petite redhead. "I’ll need it."

~xox~

"Eric, just give her a minute," pressed Ronald, grabbing his lover’s arm when the Scotsman declared her time up and started to go back into the club. "I’m sure she’ll be out soon."

William pulled up to the curb in his white luxury sedan, and he stepped out of it to speak to them. “Did you locate her?”

"Aye, found her inside." Eric nodded at the flashing club entrance. "Sorry ya go’ dragged into it, boss."

William sighed and adjusted his glasses. “So long as nothing dire happened. I am quite used to having my personal time interrupted, by now.”

Ophelia came out of the front entrance then, and the minute she saw William, she stopped in her tracks and mouthed his name, blushing tellingly.

"Huh…look familiar, Ronnie?" murmured Eric, leaning over to speak in his lover’s ear.

Ronald nodded. “Like mother, like daughter. I wonder if it’s a genetic crush or somethin’?”

Eric chuckled. “Th’ boss is an attractive man. It’s no’ like he doesnae already have plenty of reapers crushin’ on him. Most of ‘em are too scared tae say anything, ‘sides Grell.”

"And now his daughter’s got the hotts for him too." Ronald smirked. "I’ll bet Undy’s gonna love that."

Eric whistled to get Ophelia’s attention, and she shook herself out of her dreamy stare of admiration and hurried over to him and Ronald. Eric opened the door for her and pushed the seat forward so that she could get into the back. “In ya go.”

Ophelia hesitated, looking like she wanted to say something to William. She evidently couldn’t decide what that was, and she climbed in with a grumble of frustration.

"I shall take my leave," William called. "Goodnight, gentlemen."

“‘Night boss,” answered Ron with a wave as he got into the front passenger side. “See ya at work t’morrow!”

Eric got in after him and he looked at Ophelia’s sullen, pretty face through the rearview mirror. “Dinnae sulk, lass. Ya took a gamble and ya got caught in it. Happens sometimes.”

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I just wanted to do something special for my birthday,” she complained as Eric started the car and pulled into traffic.

Ronald twisted in his seat to grin at her. “Hey, ya snuck out and went to a club you were parent-banned from. I’d say that’s a pretty special thing, and you prolly wouldn’t remember it years from now if you hadn’t gotten busted by a cranky Scot, right?”

Some of her poutiness faded. “I suppose that’s one way to see it,” she grudgingly admitted. She suddenly giggled. “I thought Glen was going to soil himself when Uncle Eric showed up.”

Ron looked at his partner and winked at him. “Yeah, he can be a scary bloke when he’s huffy. Just be glad I was with him to keep him from making a big scene.”

"Oh, I am." Ophelia grimaced, and she met Eric’s eyes in the mirror again. "Why does it matter so much if I go to a club, anyhow? They stamped my hand so the bartenders would know I’m under-aged! It isn’t as though I was drinking."

"It matters ‘cause yer folks din’t want ya goin’ tae tha’ place," replied Eric, "an’ I made a promise tae a special person th’ day ya were born tha’ I’d look after ya, from tha’ day forward. It’s a promise I mean tae keep, whether ya like it or no’."

Her eyes softened. “You mean Uncle Alan, don’t you?”

Eric grunted in acknowledgement and turned left down a street. Beside him, Ronald laid a comforting hand over the one that the Scotsman was using to shift gears. He never felt competitive with Alan’s memory, but sometimes when his lover’s eyes saddened like that at the mention of him, Ronald felt a bit helpless.

"What was he like?" Ophelia twirled a loose lock of hair around one finger. "I mean, besides sweet and caring. I already know all that, and I know he was cute because I’ve seen photos of you and him hanging on the walls in your apartment."

Eric shrugged. “Shy. Took him a long time tae open up t’ me when we first started workin’ together. He blushed easily.” The Scotsman grinned. “And I liked tae provoke it whene’er I could, ‘cause it was so damned cute. He had dimples when he smiled. He liked flowers of all sorts…an’ bunnies. Alan always wanted one fer a pet, but I ne’er agreed tae it.”

Eric sighed. “Then he got sick, an’ I wish I had.”

"Then you’d have ended up taking care of a pet ya never wanted," reasoned Ronald gently, rubbing his hand. "Dispatch agents don’t really have time for pets. Well, maybe fish. Only have to feed those once a day, from what I hear."

Eric smirked, but there was no humor in the expression. “I’d have kept it ‘cause it was his.” He sighed and gave Ronald a little smile. “But it’s in the past an’ it doesnae matter now.”

Ophelia lapsed into thoughtful silence the rest of the way to the open portal entry closest to her home.

~xox~

Grell fairly flew out of the shop to embrace his daughter as soon as she stepped out of the portal from the Shinigami realm with Eric and Ronald. “Ophelia! Have you any _idea_ the fright you gave your father and I? How _dare_ you put us through this! You are _grounded_ for a month, young lady! Now go inside, wash up and get into bed! You are to come straight home after school each day, attend your homework immediately and then help around the home or in the shop. No visitors, no trips to the other side except for school, and no phone calls after eight PM!”

Ophelia sighed and looked at her father pleadingly as he shook hands with Ronnie and Eric and thanked them for retrieving her. Not that she was expecting him to veto the sentence, but the frown on his face made her feel a sickly sense of loss.

"Daddy?"

Undertaker turned from his friends and though it was hard to be sure with those shaggy silver bangs covering his eyes, she got the distinct impression that he was gazing at her with disappointment. He nodded toward the shop door. “Do as your Mum says and get inside, muffin. Thought we had a better relationship than this, but it seems I was foolin’ myself. Go on, then.”

Eyes downcast, she did as she was told. “Goodnight Uncle Eric. Goodnight Uncle Ronnie.”

“‘Night kid,” sighed Ron with obvious sympathy.

Once she was gone, Grell embraced his husband and laid his head against his chest. “Oh, I feel simply _dreadful_ , Undy! We have never grounded our princess before!”

"We’ve got to put our foot down once in a while," reminded the mortician. "tough as it is. Otherwise she’ll think she can run us over."

Eric nearly said that Ophelia _already_ thought she could run them over, but there was no point in stating the obvious. He could see it in their troubled faces, and they were lucky she was more or less a good kid. “Wull, she’s home now an’ she’s safe. I think Ronnie and I’ll head back.”

"Why don’t you chaps come in for a nightcap, first," offered the mortician. "Grell and I have some good news."

Grell looked up at him. “Are we really going to announce it so soon, darling? I haven’t officially confirmed it yet, after all.”

The mortician smirked. “I’m already fairly sure, but we can find out tonight. Remember what we’ve been keeping in the bathroom all this time?”

Recalling the advanced home pregnancy tests they’d been stocking up on from the Shinigami realm, Grell swallowed. He was excited but nervous about using one, considering how many times he’d thought he might be expecting, only to find the disappointing, negative results.

"Very well. Please…come inside and have a drink, gentlemen. Undy will keep you entertained while I…take care of something."

Eric and Ronald shrugged at each other, before joining them inside.

~xox~

"So, what’s going on?" Ronald asked of Undertaker once they were seated in the parlor. He sipped his whiskey and shivered a little at the pleasant burn. Grell had gone into the main bathroom while the mortician poured their drinks. 

"I’ll tell you in a bit," said the Undertaker evasively, grinning around his glass of brandy.

Grell came out a moment later, carrying a glass of milk. He smiled nervously at his spouse as he sat down beside him on the loveseat, and he cuddled up to him. “We’ll know in three minutes.”

Eric blinked, catching on to the elusive hints. “Are…are ya waitin’ on a pregnancy test?”

"Damn, he cracked our code," smirked Undertaker.

Ronald almost choked on his drink. “Whoa, seriously, Senpai? Ya might be having another kid?”

Grell nibbled his bottom lip and nodded. “We hope so, darling. I’ve been having some tell-tale symptoms…but this has happened before and turned out to be a false alarm. The doctors said it was a ‘hysterical pregnancy’, brought on by my desperate desire to have another child.”

"I’ve got a really good feeling about this one," insisted Undertaker.

Grell sighed and kissed him on his pale, scarred cheek. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed, lover. Try not to get your hopes up too high.”

Eric nodded. “Ye’ve been tryin’ fer a long time. Prolly shouldn’t put all yer eggs in one basket, jus’ yet.”

Undertaker’s smile didn’t fade. He stroked Grell’s hair and seemed completely at ease. “You’ll see. I’m right about this one. I’ve got some premonition talents.”

"That’s for impending deaths," reminded Ronald, "not pregnancy!"

The mortician merely chuckled. He looked at the clock and he gave his spouse a squeeze. “Well, time for the moment of truth. It’s been four minutes, love.”

Ronald suddenly got excited, despite his siding with his partner on cautioning against being too hopeful. “Go check the pee stick, Grell! What are y’ waiting for?”

Grell hopped up, spurred on by his former pupil’s enthusiasm. “I’m going, I’m going! Keep your knickers on, Ronald.”

With another quick kiss on his husband’s cheek, the redhead dashed out of the lounge and down the hall to get the test and see the results. Undertaker’s knees bounced beneath his robe as he waited tensely, and he gave a little start when he heard a wail come from the bathroom.

"Oh dear…was I wrong?" he sighed, crestfallen.

Grell came running back in before the mortician could get up and go to check on him, brandishing the home pregnancy test like a trophy. “Darling! Darling, it’s positive!” Grell said it with a sob, but his smile was huge and the tears glistening in his eyes were clearly provoked by joy, rather than angst. “W-we’re having another baby! Ronnie, look! It’s positive!”

The blond recoiled a bit when Grell shoved the testing device under his nose to show him the results. “Uh, that’s great, Senpai…but you _peed_ on that thing, so could ya not put it in my face?”

Undertaker stood up and hugged the excited redhead, unconcerned with coming into contact with the test. “I knew it,” he crowed exuberantly. “I was _right_! I could sense the li’l nipper!”

Eric smiled and lifted his drink. “Congratulations tae ya both. Looks like all yer efforts finally paid off.”

"Oh, Undy…we should bring Ophelia down to share the good news with her," suggested Grell, sniffling and wiping his eyes. "I’m not even angry with her anymore for sneaking out. We should _all_ celebrate!”

"Might want tae stick wi’ yer guns," cautioned Eric, his mood sobering a bit. "If ya let her off tha hook jus’ cause yer feelin’ happy, she’ll ne’er take punishment seriously."

"He’s right, darlin’," agreed Undertaker. He looked at Eric with a puzzled little smile. "How is it you know so much about parenting when you’ve got no nippers of your own, Slingby?"

"Nieces an’ nephews," answered the Scotsman with a smirk. "My older sister taught me a few things ‘bout childrearing when she had a family of her own, is all."

"Yeah? Ya never said anything." Ronald scratched his chin. "How big is your family, anyhow?"

"No’ sae big now," sighed Eric. "Ma and Da are both gone…killed on a reaping mission. My eldest nephew suffered tha same fate an’ a demon go’ tae my brother in law. Now there’s jus’ sis an my youngest niece and nephew."

"What are their names?" asked Grell, brows furrowed. Slingby never spoke of his family. Everyone just assumed he was transcended from mortal death rather than born to reaper parents, as was more common amongst their kind.

"Mah sister’s name is Blair. Her surviving son’s Leathan an’ her daughter is…Erica. Named after me."

Seeing the pensive look on his face, Ronald tactfully decided to change the subject. Alan’s favorite flower was known by the same name…the ones that grew on his grave every year. “Wow…you’ve gotta introduce us sometime. Well Senpai…Undertaker…congrats. I think we ought to head home and get some rest. Don’t worry; I won’t say anything about it in the office ‘till you’re ready to announce it.”

"I appreciate that, darling." Grell gave Ronald a peck on the cheek. "See you in the office tomorrow!"

~xox~

After portaling to the other side where Eric’s car waited, they got in and started the drive back to the apartment. Ronald regarded his lover thoughtfully, until the Scotsman noticed and glanced at him.

"Somthin’ on yer mind?"

Ron shrugged. “Just wondering why I’ve never heard ya mention your family before. I don’t wanna pry, but since I’m your partner and lover, shouldn’t I know a little bit about ‘em?”

Eric shrugged. “We dun’ keep in touch verra often. Blair’s never forgiven me fer leaving Scotland, an’ I think she’s of a mind tha’ if I’d stayed an’ mentored her oldest boy, he’d have survived.”

Ron frowned. “That’s not fair. Y’ can’t stop fate, Eric. He’d have probably died whether you were there or not.”

The older reaper sighed. “Tha’s wha’ I tell meself all tha time, but it doesnae stop tha guilt. Last time she an’ I spoke was ‘bout a year after Alan passed. She started in on me again an’ I told her I’d mentored Alan too, but it didnae stop him from gettin’ tha Thorns and dying.”

"And what’d she say to that?"

Eric looked at him again, briefly compressing his lips before returning his attention to the road. “Keep it in mind she’s bitter, Ronnie. She’s lost a lot o’ loved ones.”

Ronald grimaced. “That bad, huh?”

Eric sighed again. “She said I failed Alan jus’ like I failed her son.”

Ronald’s eyes went wide for a moment. “Blimey! Er…I don’t think I’d wanna meet her after all. Might say something I’d regret and I don’t want t’ be known as your ‘arsehole sasanach boyfriend.’”

The Scotsman gave a brief, soft chuckle and reached over to squeeze his knee. “Ya might be a lowlander, but yer no arsehole…an’ I couldnae expect my lover no’ tae want tae defend me, even against family. I do miss my niece an’ nephew, though.”

"Maybe they could transfer to London if they go through reaper academy," suggested Ronald. "Then you could have a direct hand in their training."

Eric snorted and took his hand off Ronald’s knee to shift gears. “Blair’d ne’er allow it. She’s doin’ all she can tae keep ‘em away from tha Grim Reaper career as it is, an’ she’d prolly rather die than send ‘em here tae England. See, in Scotland, reaper academy isnae mandatory ‘cept for those who’re raised from death as one of us. Tha ones born into this life have a choice tae either train tae become members of Dispatch or take civilian work and education. Here it’s required as soon as primary schooling’s finished.”

Ronald nodded. “And the ones that don’t make the cuts get referred to civilian opportunities. Hmm…I wonder what kind of mundane job I’d have if I’d been given a choice or flunked out?”

"Bartender," guessed Eric with a solemn nod. "Or a DJ."

Ron laughed. “Yeah, I can totally see that! Hmm, what do you think you’d be doing now, if you weren’t an agent?”

Eric shrugged. “Dunno. Construction work, maybe.”

While Ronald could certainly imagine a man with Eric’s physique doing well in fields of manual labor, he had other ideas that fit Eric’s nature more, in his mind. “I’ll bet you’d end up being a rock star. You’ve got a nice voice and you can play a few instruments. Oooh! Or a stripper!”

Eric gave him a hairy eyeball. “A stripper? Really, lover?”

Ronald shrugged. “I’m not saying y’ have low morals, if that’s what you think. I just reckon with your looks, body and sex appeal, ya’d make a hell of a hot dancer. You’d be rockin’ that kilt on th’ stage, breaking hearts and purses everywhere you went…but too bad for your admirers, ‘cause you’re mine and all they get t’ do is look! Your stage name could be…um…’Hunk of the Highlands’.”

Eric laughed helplessly. “Hmm…a kilted stripper, eh? ‘Hunk o’ tha Highlands’?”

"Hell yes. Anyone that tries to say kilts aren’t manly hasn’t seen _you_ in one, sexy.”

After clearing his throat, Eric smirked at him. “Maybe I’ll give ye a private show, once we get home.”

Ronald pulled an utterly serious face. “Do I get to wear my party crown with the blinky lights?”

The Scotsman nodded solemnly. “O’ course. Yer tha guest of honor in this show.”

"Drive faster, babe."

~xox~

Ophelia was eventually let off the hook for her blunder, but not before she’d ‘done her time’ being grounded for a month. She still got into trouble occasionally at school, but she didn’t sneak out anymore—as far as her parents knew. Grell announced his second pregnancy to his coworkers at a company party near the end of his first trimester, not nearly as intimidated to do so as he’d been when he was expecting his daughter. William of course arranged the paperwork for Grell to switch to desk duty as soon as his condition began to hinder his work in the field, along with making arrangements for maternity leave when it became necessary for him to use it.

The baby came in March via another c-section—but this time was easier on Grell than the last. He had to take some bedrest in the final month, but he didn’t suffer severe blood pressure issues or fainting spells. There was one issue, though. Grell’s fears that one of his offspring would turn out androgynous like himself came true, and as he lay half-reclined in his hospital bed with the baby in his arms, he looked down at it uncertainly. He looked up at his husband, standing by his bedside, and tears filled his eyes.

"He’s so beautiful, Undy…but we thought we were having a boy! He’s…she’s…like me…"

Undertaker wasn’t the slightest bit concerned—except for Grell. “Love, we’ve been over this plenty times before. Genitals don’t make the gender, and folks are more aware of this sort of thing happening, now. Others like you have ‘come out’ since word spread that one of London Dispatch’s top-ranking officers is androgynous. It’s not such a scary li’l secret anymore, eh?”

He wiped the redhead’s tears away and he smiled down at their beautiful new baby, who had opened her green-gold eyes and was looking around curiously. He had Undertaker’s silver hair and though it was difficult to tell this early for certain, she seemed to have inherited the best facial qualities from both parents.

"This nipper’s gonna be fine," promised the mortician. "And he’s got a big sister that’ll scare away any bullies we miss ourselves."

"B-but what do we call her…him?" Sniffed Grell. "I…I’m afraid to assign a gender, darling. We don’t k-know if he’ll develop breasts or…or take on a more male f-form. And regardless, this baby might not grow up with the same gender identity she’s given. I’ve always felt more feminine than masculine."

Undertaker shrugged. “Not to worry. We’ll pick something neutral. Let the nipper decide when he’s mature enough…or she. We don’t even have to use fixed pronouns, if you like. I switch between ‘em with you already, so I’m used to it.”

"People are going to expect a boy," sighed Grell. "That’s what that bloody ultrasound said it was."

"Then we’ll stick with male pronouns ‘till he tells us he wants otherwise," insisted the ancient, "and we’ll pick a neutral name so if he decides he wants to live as a girl, it’ll be easier."

"What about schooling? If he grows up realizing he’s a girl and not a boy, other children will make fun of her, because—"

Undertaker kissed the fretting redhead soundly. “Now, don’t you worry about that, darlin’. You’re so used to living in the human world, you keep pegging human hangups on Shinigami. They took it a lot better ‘n you expected when they found out about you, didn’t they?”

"Yes, but there is a difference between full-grown adults trained in discipline and children in school. You’ve seen how children can be—reaper or mortal! If our dear, sweet child shows up as a boy one day and a girl the next, there is no telling what the other students might do."

With a sigh, Undertaker sat down beside Grell, and he reached out to stroke the pale, downy hair on their baby’s head. “Well then, we’ll have to have a sit-down and look at our options. I can think of three, off the top of my head. We can tell folk the truth right away—”

Grell shook his head rapidly, the braid he’d woven his hair into swinging with the motions.

"—Or we can go with what the ultrasound told us when we first checked for gender," Undertaker went on, "and tell people we’ve had a boy. We’ll raise him as one, but nothin’ says we can’t teach him about himself as he grows up and let him know _he’s_ the one that gets t’ decide whether he’s a boy or a girl in the end, ‘cause he’s special. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

The mortician smiled and stroked Grell’s hair. “Lots of folk aren’t born with a set to match their actual gender, love. It’s flesh. This is our baby and that’s all I care about.”

Grell gave him a tremulous smile and he rocked the infant when he whimpered. Undertaker had said similar words to him so many times in the beginning of their relationship, but it was his actions that ultimately proved that he truly thought of Grell as his lady, and he loved every part of her. The redhead still wasn’t quite secure, though.

"And what if he decides he’s a female, Undy?"

"That’s where the third option comes in," answered the silver reaper. He took the baby’s little hands in his fingers and played with them, trying to keep him occupied. "We could always homeschool him ‘till he’s old enough to decide for himself. When that happens, he can go to school in the Shinigami realm, just like his sister."

"And what about friends? How will he make any until then?"

Feeling a headache coming on, Undertaker kept up his optimism. “He could make mortal friends on this side with nippers his age. Love, we don’t know what he’s going to choose yet, so I’m of a mind we ought to focus on the more immediate future, yeah?”

"I’m only thinking of what it’s going to be like for him," insisted Grell.

Undertaker looked him in the eye, and he withdrew one hand from the baby to trace Grell’s distraught features with his nails. “How’s he ever gonna figure out who he is and come to terms with it if we keep him hidden? Treat him as unnatural and that’s how he’s going to grow up feeling, don’t you think? There aren’t any simple answers to this, lovely, but one thing I know is I want this child to grow up knowing being unique isn’t bad. Do you want him living the way you were, when you first came to me?”

Grell closed his eyes and bit his lip ‘till it bled. “No…of course not. I would not wish that on anyone…let alone my beloved child.”

Undertaker brushed the spot of blood on Grell’s lip away with his thumb. “Then let’s play some of this by ear, instead of making plans too far into the future. I think we both learned the hard way with Ophelia that all the planning in the world can’t stop ‘em from going their own way, eh?”

Grell nodded and sighed, leaning against the older reaper for strength. “I’m frightened for him, darling.”

"Don’t be frightened," suggested Undertaker. "Be the fierce Mum I know you are. I’ll keep being the creepy Papa and nobody’ll dare mess with this lovely li’l minion we’ve made."

Grell gave a week chuckle, finally feeling a bit better.

~xox~

"So…this is weird," Ronald remarked to Eric after the two of them and Spears were invited to Undertaker and Grell’s to learn the truth about their newborn’s situation, a week after his birth. They had left the mortal realm and were once again having a car discussion on the way home, as happened frequently.

"Jus’ keep it unner yer hat," reminded Eric. "I can see why they dun’ want it public knowledge yet. I think they made tha righ’ call fer little Casey."

"Yeah, but what’s gonna happen with paperwork like ID’s and stuff, when the kid starts going to school Shinigami side?"

Eric shrugged. “Depends on tha kid, like they said. Tha’s why they’re no’ sending him tae school ‘till he’s old enough tae choose.”

"But what if he decides he doesn’t wanna?"

Eric frowned at him. “Wha’s tha’?”

Ron sighed. “What if he doesn’t _want_ a gender? What if he’s happy just being both?”

"Er…I…dunno. Maybe people could jus’ use neutral pronouns or sumthin’."

"You mean like ‘it’?" Ron’s nose crinkled. "Anyone calls that kid an ‘it’ and they’re getting a knuckle sandwich from me."

Eric chuckled. “Get in line. No, I meant like ‘they’, ‘their’, ‘them’…tha’ sort o’ thing.”

"But those are plural!"

Eric grimaced. “Ronnie, jus’ ‘cause I’m older than ya doesnae mean I’ve go’ th’ answers tae all tha’. Yer gettin’ as worked up as Grell was, an’ yer usually tha one tha’ comes up with solutions.”

The younger blond sighed. “I just don’t want to see that kid suffer, is all. Too bad we’re not all a bunch of slugs or something.”

Eric’s brows furrowed. “Slugs? Wha’ tha hell do slugs have tae do wi’ it?”

"Asexual," answered Ron with a grin. "They got no gender, so if we were like them we wouldn’t have this problem."

"Where’d ya hear tha’?" demanded the Scotsman.

"Watched it on some nature show, I think. I was a little drunk and it was a while ago, but I remember that bit."

"That doesnae sound right," muttered Eric uncertainly. "If they’re asexual they dun’ need a partner tae reproduce, and I’ve seen ‘em doin…somethin’…tha’ looks a lot like mating tae me."

"Well, maybe they just swap spit," suggested Ronald, "ya know…to trade DNA or whatever."

Eric shook his head. “Still doesnae sound right.”

They began to debate the reproductive functions of slugs and snails, neither one of them knowing quite enough about the subject to put forth a solid argument. By the time they made it home, both of them rushed to the computer to look it up on the internet.

"Huh…we were both right," announced Ronald as he leaned over Eric’s desk chair and read the web page. As it turned out, slugs and their cousin gastropods were hermaphrodites, capable of both sexual and asexual reproduction.

"Or both wrong, depending how ya look at it," countered Eric with a smirk.

"Hey, I got the spit part right!"

"Tha’s sperm, no’ spit!"

"But it comes out of its mouth…"

"Ronnie, tha’s no’ it’s mouth."

Ronald grimaced, and the two of them looked at each other. “Maybe we ought to drop this subject. It’s not very sexy and I was hoping for some action tonight.”

Feeling mischievous, Eric smirked at him. “Then slime yerself up an’ open yer mouth, sae I can spit in it. Jus dun’ bring any salt tae bed.”

"Ugh…mood officially killed," grumbled Ronald. "I’m hitting the shower!"

Eric laughed, even though he knew he’d just cost himself a sexual encounter. He was feeling a little traumatized by the reproductive video they’d just watched too, though. 

~xox~

Casey Lee Sutcliff was raised wearing neutral colors and given toys for both boys and girls, as he aged from an infant into a toddler. His older sister graduated secondary school, and after summer break, she began her first day at the Reaper Dispatch academy for her higher education. As she stood in a straight line with a little more than a dozen other Shinigami her age, William T. Spears walked up and introduced himself to those that did not know him yet.

"Most of you will not make it to preliminaries within Dispatch," announced William. "Training is a long, difficult, extensive process that will sort out the capable from the incapable. Do keep in mind that only the most exemplary students will move on to become official reaper agents. The rest of you will be assigned to other departments within the organization depending on your skill sets, or you will be rejected altogether to find another career. I will now take you on the tour of the facilities and explain what is to be expected of you as pupils. Keep up, do not speak unless spoken to, and take notes."

Ophelia was smiling at him through the entire tour, and William rushed it a bit to get it over with. It reminded him entirely too much of the girl’s mother, once Grell decided to pursue him. Ophelia was more tolerable personality-wise, but he wasn’t completely blind to her infatuation. When it was over with, he was relieved to send them on to their first classes and he retreated to his office to start the day’s paperwork.

"Another Sutcliff," sighed the Dispatch supervisor. "And I cannot even count on her father’s genetic contribution to help balance the mother’s. Styx help me."

~xox~

-The End 

 


End file.
